I cannot tell,
What I do not know,
Yet in the not knowing,
Something secret lays itself,
Before me,
Of things of centuries past,
That come to me in silent moments;
A desire to return to a time,
Of love,
To a life more real than air,
A life,
Once lived in centuries past.
Pen & Paper 
Nice
LikeLike
This is so true everybody had a past life I found out that I was a red American Indian do you know what you were?
LikeLike
I have sensed that I may have lived in china a long time ago and that I have a connection to colonial times in north america and perhaps Ireland. I really don’t know. Thank you so much for your comment 🙂
LikeLike
Your poetry is always beautiful, striking, and evocative. This is moving.
LikeLike
I did not see this comment and I am humbled by your kind response. Thank you so very much. Karen 🙂
LikeLike