To see with ones’ soul the dirty fingernails
To feel with ones’ skin the touch that hurts
To be in shoes that fit oh too well
To walk a mile inside some ones’ smile
I feel the nausea that tinges each meal
I recoil from intimacy that should recall pleasure
Today the life that each step becomes
Is only a dance instead of a future
An imitation of life, of love it is ghostly
I walk and yet, am dead to this time
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I sense a deep empathy with your fellow humans in this one Sandi.
Thank you, and, well-done. :)
~ a fellow human, and poet ~Z
In Spirit,
Bear
Blessings from Ky.
Joyce B.
Love,
Sage
Regis