Old soul

the outcasts of the world are not truly outcasts the just do not fit where others place them.

Older than I seem, peace and mayhem together they bleed.

so lost and left behind, forgotten by everything even time.

I watch others who look older than I,

play with joyous bouts or cry.

Like children they seem to me,

more like land than sea.

my children I think,

for why else would I teach them to float rather than sink. 

Author's Note

I've lost my touch for writing but let me know what you think I wrote it for the outcasts of the world.