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The Hand of Sorrow

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An old man...

He sits with feet propped up on a stool
icy hands tucked beneath his thin quilted robe
eyes half closed...

So deeply in thought he sits
that not even when Sorrow joins him
is he roused to greet her...

Realizing after a moment
that he has a visitor
he lifts his eyes to this figure
heart beginning to pound in his chest
mouth going dry like sand
on the beach of death
and jaw clenching
with the encompassing fear
of what he might find...

It is a woman
not elderly though her hair is iron grey
it cascades down around her kindly face of stone...

She wears a silky robe
the color of midnight blue
indicating presumable emptiness
and her hands...

The old man silently watches as
she lifted her white gloved hands to her hood
to pull it back
the silk sleeves falling away to reveal
them as elbow length
midnight eyes never leaving his...

"I am Sorrow," the woman says
voice hoarse with restrained tears
hands folding in her lap...

The old man swallows
in spite of his dry tongue
and replies to Sorrow's introduction
mouth thick with cotton
voice ruff with emotion and old age
eyes watching as Sorrow removes
her right glove to reveal her skeletal fingers
which she reaches over and touches his quilted knee with
making him shiver uncontrolably...

"I know..."





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