Wise Old Crone

I spent too much of my time being eighteen
do you still see my eyes when you look at me?
So perceptive, you are intelligent
you have a soul, I see it
yet you bury me

Once, you almost said sorry
Once, I almost forgave you
I jumped in place for weeks and weeks
'till my legs gave way like a
big golden stallion
I pushed my head against your arm
for days and days
stomping and neighing and starving and waiting
then I laid down and died in a clearing

And perhaps why my souls still bleeds
is not that I was just a stranger running on a beach
or that I find you in everyone I meet
it's that I'm filled with strength and grace
but that late at night, I'm doomed to drawing your face

but let's get to the part where I disagree
where I take all I felt and turn it
These things are not a failing of me,
I'm a warrior, a wise old crone, a chariot,
I understand the world in ways you only did when you were born
when your eyes were small and not full of scorn
and as you grew they darkened and hid
to protect the tiny deer-hoofed soul within

Well, I like the others didn't see the soul
or if I did I would have shook my head
"No, no, little forest man,
don't shy away"
and pulled you into my arms to say,
"You poor little dear,
you're so terribly afraid
of the failure and mistakes you can possibly make.
It is not a mistake to not know the world,
but rather to lay here without a word.
Come, place you head upon my knee,
and I will sing you to sleep, sweet and softly."

But wise old crone was deer-hoofed and afraid
it took a brilliant mind to turn her away
and leave her to grow old in a daze.