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 right to be 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 protected 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 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 shattered 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 are crushed.