He held my hand and filled my head,
With twirling thoughts and creeping dread.
The larger hand will one day drop,
and all things they provided will come to a stop.
My reaching arms cry out aloud,
But no warmth will come until he is proud.
Nov. 16 2021 MA
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Collection of a Great MA
PoetryThese are poems I have written at the best and worst moments in life. Trigger warnings will be provided for passages with sensitive topics.
