Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
~

the true art of loving is
to never stop touching!

touching, holding,
caressing, stroking...
such is the nature of
love's connection;
a twine intertwined
through touch,
the stringing,
the *******,
the fingers that clasp,
that reach out to grasp;
oh marvelous,
tenderest touch!

why is it that
any of us stop?
would we,
could we,
if we really knew?
that touch was a gift
one of the few
that gifts immortality,
gives liberality;
indeed,
would we
ever,
or
never
stop touching?

and God could only
know why
we would ever ask
to be left alone,
cold as a stone,
the untouchable we;
how could we deny
that one, that only
who for our heart longs
truest mate of our soul.

babies need it,
toddlers do it,
children want it,
teens use it,
young ones wish it,
lovers gift it,
mid-lifers pine and
seniors return to it...
there is never
a stage or
a cycle of life
where we should
or ever could
cease to be needing it
ever stop touching
or being touched.

for touch is
love's connection,
the umbilical chord,
a neuron cable,
the neutron bundle,
oh blanket of hope...
it feeds us,
a life line,
an air line
that needs us;
a love line to
the divine
that renews us,
and will
inevitably,
ultimately,
eventually,
totally
hold us,
as we walk
the path through,
eternity past,
present and
what is to come!

for touch...
indivisible from love,
and love never dies;
love never ceases!

yes,
the true art of touching is
to never stop loving!


~

*post script.

we watched so many who loved
stop touching through the years
and then wonder what happened
as embers once hot grew cold.
touch is a gift,
to be shared
and not hoarded!
I woke up this morning
To quite a surprise
I had a 42 chest
And round shapely thighs

The hair on my face
Had been replaced
With voluptuous lips
And rosy red cheeks

Guess all the dreaming of women
That I always do
Went straight to my head
And changed a thing or two

I went to the mirror
As every man would
And thought to myself
That I look pretty good

So I searched my wife's closet
Found a little red dress
Nothing to fancy
But enough to impress

Off of the hanger
I pulled it down
Then headed out the door
For a night on the town

Dinning and dancing
In all the places I'd been
I break a few hearts
Cause I don't really like men

I tried to explain
That I woke up this way
Neither delusional nor crazy
And certainly not gay

I'm just thinking I think
Of women most all the time
It must have swirled in my head
Till my body fell into line

I'm not really sure
What I'm going to do
But enjoy being pretty
For a moment or two

Just when my wife
Was warming up to the idea
I woke up again
But this time back to a man

The one thing I learned
Out of all this craziness
Is I look good in red
So I'm keeping the dress
His feelings ricocheted
Off her world
Impaling his unaware heart
I just puked another poem today
There was a queasiness so my brain felt the need
To up chuck all of its contents
All over you fine peoples feet

It was a colorful array of symbolism
That I hurled across the room
It must have been something I'd seen or read
That made me ***** this poem out for you

Don't worry I'll personally clean up the mess
Before anymore of this I let loose
But this close to a sick poet you should have guessed
That eventually my works would splatter on you
When did it visit me?
I really don't know when.
It came out of nowhere,
I feel that it's a sin.

Naked in the shower,
washing up clean.
I felt this little lump,
scared and unforeseen.

Feeling all alone,
I looked up to the sky.
Fingers locked together,
I asked the Lord, "Why?"

Now, I lay in silence,
while the tumor grows inside.
Putting up these walls,
all I do is cry.

Months have gone by,
with the chemo and the draws.
The sickness took my *******,
now that's the final straw.

It's been six months now,
I struggled for my life.
I beat the **** cancer.
I AM HAPPY, I WILL SURVIVE!!
My mother is a breast cancer survivor. But I also wrote this for all the survivors and to the ones to whom that lost their battle with this disease!  PLEASE SHARE AND LET THIS TREND!!
Why do we feign such rapturous delight,
in pretence to others that all is alright,
what if the soul is quietly suppressed,
cloaked in darkness, hidden and repressed,

Are we ashamed to drape the veil,
to retreat into darkness and embrace the pale,
truth can be found from deep in a frown,
so why wear the clothes and tears of a clown.

© H V Swan
Next page