a bag of sand
a dead man's hand
withered but alive on the fractured land
what's a hand to do
without the arm its due
or the muscle and the bone from which the hand took cue
hand wanders the plains
hoping somehand deigns
to interlock its fingers and alleviate his pains
hand curls into fist
weak without its wrist
shaking for the company which it has sorely missed
then fist unspools to wave
for across the sandy grave
another hand is looking for the warmth of hands they crave
one hand makes a sign
then fingers intertwine
if these hands keep holding their bruised knuckles shall be fine
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 11:51 AM UTC
a bag of sand
a dead man's hand
withered but alive on the fractured land
what's a hand to do
without the arm its due
or the muscle and the bone from which the hand took cue
hand wanders the plains
hoping somehand deigns
to interlock its fingers and alleviate his pains
hand curls into fist
weak without its wrist
shaking for the company which it has sorely missed
then fist unspools to wave
for across the sandy grave
another hand is looking for the warmth of hands they crave
one hand makes a sign
then fingers intertwine
if these hands keep holding their bruised knuckles shall be fine
ay girl lemme get ur digits
ha ha
Request permission to use this poem