Thread: That Gentle Touch

That Gentle Touch

I, whom bathed myself in mud,
Stood in the surrounding darkness,
My face salted with tears and blood,
My body weak from the rough earth,

My face looked down upon the pavement,
Crouched on all fours,
My nostrils filled with a scent so unfamiliar,
I shook away from the presence which was upon me,

I hid fearing the creature’s hold,
But its eyes held onto my figure,
I looked away, hoping it would not notice,
Then, I felt my skin shred and I yelped in pain,

No. There was no feeling,
There was no pain,
Instead, I felt the tender touch,
I turned back to strike,

But, instead, it took my skinned hands and anointed them with its own tears,
The coldness, the fear: all melted,
At once ugly, transformed into elegance,
The one who shown kindness to that of a tender soul.