On a warm summer day, an old soul returned to
a place where parts of it remain for years. Waiting
while misplaced pieces of it floated through life on
waves of tears. Many gathered on this day all had
the same ancestral blood flowing through their veins.
Some came out of respect; the unbroken circle… was
there for gain.
These mortals had tried to keep the old soul away from
this final commemoration. They did not care about its
many years of painful isolation. Death had not fractured
the unbroken circle had gone unchanged for years. The
return of this old soul brought to the cloistered multitude
panic and fear.
Disregarded, invisible with no rights, never heard, the old
soul was damned in their every fearful word. Watched
closely, made to feel like a thief, an intruder daring to be a
part of their hypocritical grief. The old soul tried to enter
this circle of mourning, doors slammed in its face. A
reminder of why it was not wanted in this cosseted place.
Unwanted at birth, cast out on a journey at an incredible
cost, to penetrate the unbroken circle was a battle that
would forever be lost. The old soul believed there was a
time to grieve, a time to pray. A time to remember when
an innocent soul simply forgotten and tossed away.
On soft breezes, those that gathered could be heard with
a pretense of moans. Their voices echoed memorials
where truth was silenced the real story hidden, inside of
the unbroken circle truth forbidden. The old soul stared
down at a mound of dirt waiting for love that the grave
could not offer, while the unbroken circle gathered and
divided their coffers.
A shattered loving soul had returned to where a part of
it remained years, it gathered up the pieces of its heart
and wiped away its tears. The old soul had returned on
that warm summer day, to grieve the loss of never
hearing “I love you” or feeling a parent’s gentle touch.
It needed to tell the unbroken circle when children are
unloved their lives become crushed.
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