Poetry (33)

Hello Escritori!

Here is some alternative visual content to add to your interpretation of this week’s… Sunday poem.


The Empath

There’s a point

Of my existence

Which hurts.

I can’t say

How much:


It’s that those

Who prohibit touch

Must of each other

Intuit much.


But there’s something

Within a rare,

Small act

Of skin on skin

That seems a truer reading;

As such,

Than any one person

Could divine

By the tracing

Of a life line.


By such empathy

Can it be derived:

The depth of a character,

Their nature of relating

(Just how much to give

And to leave to discover)

The strength of one’s grip,

The love of your mother.


One touch transmits

In the work

Of unspoken moments

A tactile telegram

Tapping over

Your gallant


Towards another.


(© Copyright Pola Negri 08/02/2016.)





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