The sensation has vanished,
touch no longer has a hand;
connection is diminished,
I now understand.
Eyes have become the vehicle,
that steer us to blindness;
we’ve forgotten how to ride the bicycle,
to our own divineness.
Senses are secondary,
with a life surrounded by objects;
stimulation is primary,
and we are the prime suspects.
Expression is compromised,
our hearts no longer dictate;
our interests sterilised,
our voice a touch too late.
Slow to smell the roses,
fresh sweet perfume;
but time is wasted on social poses,
and we are unable to resume.
Life is a mirror,
our reflection today’s picture;
what I am I struggle to deliver,
and taste the sweet nectar.
Lewis Walddren 