He regarded a lot of things, 

As myths. 

Love was one of them. 

It was so popular,

Yet experienced,

By only a few

The lucky few, 

As he liked to call it. 

His  grand parents had it.

His parents didn’t. 

He knew he couldn’t. 

The only people he ever saw it happen to, 

Were people that had a good soul. 

People who did no wrong, 

Not him.

He was brutal. 

He had done a lot of wrong.

No way the luck could extend to him. 

He lived his day the way he lived the fore

Except with more brutality.

He didn’t know what it was to love. 

How could he? 

He was surrounded by his kind. 

And the ones who showed any interest, 

We’re blinded with money. 


Money had always being the motive. 

But then,

Everything changed. 

When he met her. 

The one with the ancient soul. 

She made him see things, 

In new perspective 

She made him be things, 

He never knew he could be. 

Or want to be. 

She was different. 

Her ancient soul,

Drew him closer,

Than he had been drawn,

To anybody. 

He never knew what it was, 

To look forward to someone coming home. 


How he liked the word already. 

Her ancient soul made him feel. 

Made him know he had a heart. 

Her ancient soul, 



This is my response to the daily prompt, Ancient. 

Did you like it? Feel free to comment whatever thoughts you have concerning it. 

I tried writing a prose on this, but it wasn’t coming the way I needed it to😧, but the idea for this came, and I knew it was it. The one I wanted to share with you all. 

Just like all other poetry I’ve attempted writing, I wasn’t satisfied with this. I’m more confident about my writings in prose but well, it’s what it is.