"Touch"

By: Maria Reed-Shore

Touch my soul, with thy touch
impression of a mirrored place
not unlike a desert mirage
so deceiving that one is
opposite to impressions made
upon the glass
cheerful and bright,
yet hidden behind a tainted facade
making the glass something of awe
for there we open the door
of one's inner being
so visibly seen
suffering by those who know
at which depth the soul dwells.