The soul that is buried with in me,
Has lost a touch of feeling.
The touch that comes from you,
Is like a rose petal between your fingers,
Smooth and gentle.
Placed in the palm of your hand,
To resemble the world and all the beauty.
As though,
If a weed was placed in the same palm,
It would resemble the hatred, darkness, and sin.
For these palms are how God sees fit to the world.
 
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