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Holding Hands

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This is where we stand,
Holding hands,
Beneath the bottom of sea,
Where the monster lies at wake,

Its funny how the holding of hands,
Does something more than to comfort and console,
It drives a sort of connection,
That I haven’t felt before,

Was I strong enough to do it on my own?
I’m not really sure,

Yet with the thrumming of the drums
talking back and forth within our palms,

I’m assured,
knowing that soon my sorrows will be cured,

The bottom of this sea is dark,
Like midnight in the winter,
Its silent and beautiful,
With an angry bitterness to taste,

The rustling of the seaweed bodies,
Send ice shards in my spine,

Yet the thrumming is still there,
Between you and I,
And I know that no matter,
how they talk,
they will never break my mind,

I’m stronger with you here,
so while we brave the night,
Maintain the thrumming,
Keep me out of sight



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