I am different, than most.
My eyes see differently.
They see more, than what lies in front of me.
My heart is old, but my body, young.
The peace I have, is left undone.
To those of this world, I try to explain,
the purpose of life is not hollow or plain.
Yet they do not listen and continue the day,
shallow at heart, and vain in their ways.
The knowledge I have, seems to baffle them all,
they don’t understand, how life can’t be planned.
My desires lie in the simply complex,
knowledge, wisdom, truth, it leaves the others perplexed.
I haven’t yet found one like me,
one who knows how to simply be.
The pleasure I take is simple, not plain.
The wind brushing against my face, an afternoon rain,
the beauty of silence, peace, not pain.
Though I enjoy aloneness and quiet,
there is a part I mustn’t exclude.
The wariness of isolation, to pain it alludes.
How could you ever forget,
the lonely role of an old soul?