The more I sit and ponder,

The less my thought wander,

The simpler my wonder,

As I’m humbled by age.

We all have hopes,

Delusions of grandeur,

To mask our simplicity

And act as an anchor;

To illusions drawn

In the prison of individuality,

Yet we all become aware,

Even if gradually.

That our pain is ordinary,

A promise from life

And no one soul is special,

Not even mine

Here’s a tale of a few,

A trodden path,

A told tale

Of broken bonds,

A folk tale,

A stolen song.

You shaped his soul,

He took your breath,

You lost your time

And he lost his head.

One went that day

Yet both hearts wept.

Your spirits left.

His soul is dead.