And once at all those lies we carry
with the touch of real worlds
real souls
all come in to one
and nonetheless a future for it all
it comes across my mind
that we are all
just the lack of godly shape
through our hearts that forgive
too much or not at all
and our hands too close to our bodies
not able to touch
and with the touch we learn
of men
and women,
unpure, unshaven, the smell of what we used to call history
now grown into dust.
and wearily we climb
hoping to see just a reflection                            
                                               
of whom we used to call
one of ours.