don't reach out for me
i've learned not to take a hand
the sting of this reality
bites into my skin
leaving nothing to grasp at all
a bitter heart with seeing eyes
i have become by my own accord
living each day as my last
as the sand which slips
through these far too calloused hands
once a sponge or succulent
now withering as each sun passes
turning this light to black
like the heavy earth left covering
this slab of marble i lie beneath
Thursday, October 2, 2008
each day my last
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1 comments:
Though the hands may be calloused, the heart is not. Bitter? Perhaps.
But, we are all bittered in our own way.
A poignant piece that reaches inside and tears the emotions to the surface.
Powerful.
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