Hands

Knuckled. Cold. A claw like grip
That clenches on the heart
Picks body up and slamming down
An end before a start

Fingers, deft, consume the mind
And bid the darkness grow
A creeping mist of black and grey
Is all there seems to know

Strong grips tight upon a head
And try to push far under
Beating, rolling, one by one
Waves tearing through, asunder

Clasped around a pale white neck
Constrict, restrict, recede
Two eyes with stars, a body limp
As lungs forget to breathe

A human, lying, bereft,  alone
Stares listless at a sky
Passing stranger, nomadical soul On a road that passes by

With skin of leather, fingers quick
Flask strapped tight at side
Undo the clasp, let crystal drops
Rejuvenate, revive

Arms reached down in vice like grip
Hauling to the feet
Orbs of speckled forest hues
And pools of mute green meet

A palm faced upwards, an offer stands
Questions, unspoken,  still
Suffocating, pressing, all around
Nothing moves. Until

An answer returned, a cautious wrist
Stretched forward, still unsure
A slanted smile, a few soft words
With intentions true and pure

Gentle caress, with growing trust
A brush of lips, sublime
Bonds that strengthen, grow, become
Cemented over time

Yet wandering feet are often turned
To paths still dark and grey
But hands sneak round to hold on tight
And steer a different way

No longer strange, these hands they touch
And leave nothing on the line
But this beacon, this hope, lights the way

When your hand is held in mine