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I feel pointy fingers
Like a trespass on me.
Is it something about having pointy fingers
That makes us want to use them?
Good things, bad things
Right, wrong, up, down...
The urge is to touch it
With a pointy finger...
Make a claim...
Turn to stone...
Elevate oneself...
Strip something to nakedness...
Your illusions are your own.
Strip yourself if you can
And wonder at what you see...
Tell me... if you just must.
But nakedness is ethereal...
An illusion of a moment...
It may glow or fade
And must be free to change
Or it is not life.
What you touch
With your pointy, pointy fingers
Is an illusion... of mine... or yours...
When touched as real...
Becomes real
In an unreal way...
And we who are not truly holy
Are left only to a battle of truth...
Holy... not to be touched...
But by love.
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