These Hands

The darkness caves in, closing around coming thoughts of change
And still these hands were always there to cradle you.
Only a few memories would prove to be worth holding onto,
While others are lost in the hidden beauty that can only be found in forgiveness.

Nostalgic memories nestle comfortably in a warm place in my heart,
In thought, a solitude representing some semblance of protection-
That replay in my minds restless hope that this darkness will escape me.

Somehow solace is found in knowing that what enters
Rests in the desolate remains of my giving hands
That slowly come together.

But the darkness has decisively crept into my life, never to leave, and
In an instance, that hope is lost in the cycle of pain that never goes away.
In sight of hope, your hand again retreats away from mine into that of another,
And my hands alone are no longer strong enough to pull.

I once thought promise to be an escape of comfort, and again I am fooled
Into becoming the victim of my own demise where I find myself
Aimlessly wandering in the infinite circle of fear from letting go and relinquishing all doubt-
A doubt that has hindered these searching hands from entering into the light.





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