You cannot touch my hand, nor my soul. <br />You cannot........because you will not. <br />You cannot touch my soul-it is a world alone, <br />that dwells not in stone. <br />You cannot.............because you will not........ <br />and to see you go-when all I know.......is <br />a place alone to cast my lot. <br />The shroud of numbness-I must confess, <br />to embrace solitude with nothingness. <br />I hold on to this pain, to the heartache, <br />wishing I were numb. The blackness to <br />come, no longer to shun, no longer one, watching myself bleed- <br />afar from the sun. <br />You cannot touch my hand. Crucified by love's comand, <br />though I willfully go like the shepherd's lamb...... <br />Crucified--crucified, the lashings of the heart, to <br />wander the silent moor, through wind and hail from <br />the start, to that place on the hill, <br />the lonely-dark.<br /><br />THEO RAY<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-moor-2/
