There are 4 fingers and one thumb at the end of this hand,
I want you to grab them, spread each of your twisted knuckle
bones,
Knot them over like the stump of a willow tree,
Tangle over the stocky roots and never let go,
Grow and divulge, two entities as one,
Wisom them ancient, skin swimming within broken bones,
And shrivel up peacefully, accomodation for the worms,
Let them do what it does best and give way for the little ones,
As they too within their wooden hearts, find the forest home.
YOU ARE READING
The Aden Grey Poetry Contest
Thơ caSo Aden, for those who didn't know him, loved poetry. He was the one to get me into it. The first poem I ever wrote was for him, about him. This is something I meant to do a while ago but I kept avoiding painful memories. This is a poetry contest of...
