The Artist (Old Soul)

I have never been to Rome
Though I feel the worn cobble stones
Sliding beneath my feet with every step
Striding time in leaps and bounds

I turn around and retrace the footprints
I see them in the distant past
Emerging from La Grotte de Lascaux
Where resides an ancient gallery

My hands remember the feel of ochre
An echo of excoriated skin revisits my fingers
As a multitude of beasts breathe and live
In the cavern’s flickering firelight

I trace the footprints further back
Hohle Fels, where music is resounding
From a flute carved by skilled hands
From the ulna of a griffin vulture

I’m moved by the flowing notes
As I play softly to my counterparts
Beneath an audience of timeless stars
Now transmuted to tantalizing muses

I am an old soul and this is my genesis
Born with those first few notes
Immortalized in cave paintings
Reverberating through eternity