Poem: Out of Touch

I tried to hold the morning light,
but it slipped like dust between my hands.
The sky said nothing — just watched me try,
unfolding silence where I stand.

The phone lights up, but not for me,
just echoes of another thread.
I’m scrolling through a thousand lives,
but none recall the words I said.

I speak in rooms that hum and fade,
where faces flicker, dim, then die.
Connection feels like chasing wind —
each voice a signal passing by.

My hands remember how to reach,
but touch has turned to glass and screen.
I miss the way the world once breathed,
before it blurred into machine.

So here I sit, both near and far,
a signal lost in static’s clutch.
Alive, aware, and aching still —
a little known, a little out of touch.

Thank-you for reading.

Remember there are many paths back to God.

Follow your own path,

Brenda Marie