old soul

“old soul,”
you got tired of hearing them say.
you thought you understood
why they came;
your body, your mind
skill or sharpness
one step above the “average”

and you wondered why I stayed.
when you were a closed door,
all thorns and no rose.
all ice and no drink
with words like poison.

I saw the boy beneath the old soul.
your weakness made me love you
quietly, in the dark,
after all the knowledge in the world
was gone
your strength and wit
are beautiful
but only beside
your humanity;
and the glow of wonder
in the eyes of a boy.

8 July 2013


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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