Big wrinkled hands
Bigger than my young frail ones
Those aged hands of yours grandpa,
I remember them being so warm
Where are they now:
Skeletal, painfully thin and so cold;
Turning to dust with you in your coffin?
Small delicate hands, small size
As mine now and I would leap in glee
To see that my hands have grown
Am I bigger now? Stronger now?
Mother, your hands are so warm
They envelop my hands in warmth
Like a blazing sun pressed into my hands
It's power and radiance mine for the taking
And tell my, dear mother
Will your hands one day be ever so
Fragile, skin and bone scrawny,
Veins clear sapphires through skin
And blood like red jewels that drip
No more, one day, when your hands
No longer warm, envelop mine
And your hands crumble to dust
At my touch for you have gone on
Without me?
And now my hands
So small I think
Slender but small
And I wonder, if that one day will come
Where my flesh rots and my hands
Also becomes dust once again
YOU ARE READING
Tears Of The Rose
شِعرA. Ton. Of. Random. Poems. Just warning you. The poem that inspired the title of this book: Tears of the Rose A rose Is a prickly thing Armed with barbed thorns Stinging like thousands of merciless Bees that hover protectively Over their prize. Rose...
