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Out of Touch

It isn’t fear of the unknown That makes me quiver at dying. It isn’t for sins I’m due to atone. And it isn’t for tears and crying. No, it’s the mind-mangling thought Of being alone without you— In dreamless emptiness wrought It chills me through and through. “You won’’t know it,” some explain. And legions announce they’re right. But it’s that idea that primes my pain: Our love out of touch, out of sight. It is useless to dwell on it, I know. But when I embrace your charms Something catches in my soul And the future sounds dire alarms.

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Lindsay Laurie

Date: 8/7/2015 2:16:00 AM

G'day Paul... very impressive poem. Certainly something we all muse over at some stage when we reflect on the future - Lindsay

Paul Schneiter
Date: 8/7/2015 8:40:00 AM

Thank you, Lindsay. It's separation from loved ones, not death itself, that--to me, at least--makes death so petrifying. I value and appreciate your comment, and I hope that life is treating you well.

Jan Allison

Date: 8/6/2015 6:34:00 PM

I found this brought a lump to my throat Paul - such a touching write my friend:-) hugs jan xx 7

Paul Schneiter
Date: 8/6/2015 8:54:00 PM

Thank you, Jan. Your continuing support and encouragement not just of me, but of all Soupers, is commendable. You have a charitable heart, which I regard as among the finest of virtues. Hugs, always.