Our fingers are used for grabbing.
They grasp to things we hold dear.
A constant fear
Of dragging.
But sometimes,
We lose our grasp.
In humanity.
In reality.
Into the oceans
Of lies and deceptions.
Into the motions
Of exceptions
Our fingers yearn
To be held in respect
Yet they turn
To the extent
We learn as children
To reach for stars
But humans are too smitten
To rasp for what is ours.
YOU ARE READING
To The World
Poesía"the inferno of words would be my demise if i did not express them." #501 in poetry #640 in poetry #689 in poetry #692 in poetry
