Ancient Script

Ancient Script reflects on an old soul’s deep bond with writing, using words to explore identity, time, and hidden truths. A poetic journey of expression and belonging.

Two thousand's seed, a soul took root,

At twelve, I found my destined loot.

Not gold, nor jewels, but words so deep,

Where all my hidden truths, could sleep.

Lost in the world, a fragile bark,

I sought a haven, from the dark.

My father's garage, a sacred place,

Where I could write, and find my space.

With fire's kiss, I'd sear the page,

To make them look, of a bygone age.

For in a way, that's where they dwelled,

These ancient thoughts, my heart compelled.

Why did I feel, this strange divide?

An old, old soul, that couldn't hide.

Trapped in a form, too young, too new,

A weight of ages, shining through.

Centuries past, my spirit born,

A heart adrift, a soul forlorn.

A wandering leaf, on winds so strange,

Familiar whispers, out of range.

A child who sensed, a world unseen,

Beyond the veil, a vibrant sheen.

Hidden layers, deep inside,

Where truth resided, and wouldn't hide.

I had to write, I had to bleed,

To plant the words, to sow the seed.

To understand this cosmic jest,

And put my restless soul, to rest.

This writer's heart, this ink-stained hand,

Forever bound, to understand.

The ancient script, that flows through me,

My blood, my breath, eternally.

No spoken word, could ever say,

The depths I feel, along the way.

Only the ink, can truly tell,

The writer's story, the writer's hell,

And Heaven, found, within the word.

A timeless echo, to be heard.

My soul's confession, dark and bright,

I write to live, I live to write.

Author's Note

Writing has been my lifeline since 2012, the thread binding past and present. Through words, I live (vivo scripto); without them, I fade (sine scripto pereo).