If I were like King Midas
and everything I could touch
would turn to gold, its something
that I wouldn’t use that much.
How my fingers would twitch to
caress the tender cheek of a little child
or the downy softness of a kitten
or the lips of my lover in a smile.
I would mourn the loss of velvet
and green grass beneath my feet,
the smoothness of metal, the roughness
of bark, the coolness of a fresh cotton sheet.
My treacherous fingertips can feel
no more, and quiet they hang by my side,
my riches a curse, no love will I know,
all happiness to me is denied.
Copyright ©2026 Lisa Paul. All rights reserved.
I missed the Linky link!
A Little Bit of Everything, With Love 
Beautiful
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Thank you!
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Nice poetry, Lisa. The Midas Touch is a curse, not a blessing.
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I agree. Thank you, Jim.
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Lovely words. So grateful for the blessings given by God, we don’t need the Midas touch.
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No, we do not! Thank you!
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This is wonderful, Lisa. ✨
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Thank you, Nancy!
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I love the spin you put on this, Lisa! A burden of not being able to experience touch for fear of the consequences. I wonder if this would be worse than not having the sense of touch at all!
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That is a good question, Melissa. Thank you so much for your comment.
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A beautiful poem Lisa.
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Thank you, Sadje!
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You’re most welcome
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