My Old Soul
My old soul has sung before.
It has lain many hands in mine;
I reach for yours, and link it to he
who needs. He stands in Bergen-
Belsen in the rain, waiting his turn
to expire. He takes hands he cannot
save and sighs and breathes
the gas. He is a petal;
I see inside his heart. I love you as
he and they who follow down
the stairs. My hand takes yours and hers
and his. Be careful of their souls, they
are little suns. They rise in me and flame
the sanctuary where we stand, betrothed.
word pond 
very much liked this poem…thanks ever so much for posting it.
Glad for your appreciation & words of thanks.
yes
Always appreciate hearing your responses, Suhni.
… tears, these words can not wash away all the pain of these lost souls … these words, send love out to all the lost souls… holding them now with love and forever ….
Tender and deeply moving; this poem evokes such emotion….and haunts. I feel, as I read…I reach for the hands of dear lost souls and take them to my heart that they encompass me fully. I feel an awesome power, sensitivity and beauty in this poem. Thank you Charles Bane Jr. With thanks to you, Donna Fleischer.
This poet’s flame gathers us up, as one, doesn’t he, Catharine Grasty. I am moved by your responses. In gratitude, Donna
“Gather us up, as one…”, true indeed Donna. Charles Bane Jr does so masterfully and with such sensitivity. His writing truly is marvelous!!