Once a dream did weave a shade
D'er my angel guarded bed
This earth had been a paradise
It never look'd to human eyes
But there is no more than I can see
Her darkness beautiful with thee
What end is there to my complaint?
If her sweet whisper makes me faint
Starry jealousy does keep my den
Anxiously night wakes me again
Is that trembling cry a song?
An enchanted voice dragging me along?
If thought is life and love and breath
And want of thought is death
Then how happy am I
If I live of if I die
There is a thing inside you
that is thousands of years old.
Too old to be captured in poems.
Too old to be loved by everyone
but loved deeply by a chosen few.
-Old Souls | Nikita Gill
@surpassinggoogle as our witness :)