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The Touch: by R. M. Ragnanese
Those that gaze into heaven's unknown say to my poor wretched soul.

All that I need is a touch from above.

Just a breeze of hope to gently move my sail along it's way.

They tell me to rejoice and to sing the wonderous songs of my youth.

When my heart was so filled with glee.

They tell me not to put pity upon myself to breathe the air of gratefulness.

Oh! How I wish above the stars of heaven that I could rejoice and not let tears of pity drip from my face.

That I could boldly stand with those who gaze toward heaven's Way.

Waiting for the touch that will stir my soul.

Yet I am unable to lift my eyes to heaven.

For my heart has been broken.

The love that once was there.

It has disappeared like a vaper in the wind.

It is gone and does not return to me.

I do not doubt in the feebleness of my mind.

How wonderful , beautiful and so divine a touch from above would be to me.

Yet tell me this if you may?

While I am waiting for heaven to come.

Will you comfort me when I am hurting or point me to the clouds above?

Will you hold me and tell me of your love or will you shake my hand and send me on my way?

Will you be there when I need you or will emptiness always fill the place you use to be?

It is not the looking up that is so discouraging to me.

That makes you think I have no hope.

It is the stumbling and falling while I am looking up

And no one there to pick me up.

That keeps my eyes from looking up

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