Soft snow
caressing fingers
on a January day.
Fingers stroking
prayer beads
as the thoughts
burn inside.
Never let a
moment go by
when lips
may pray.
Over and over
the same
hoping clings
to the heart.
Is it even
worth the effort
to carry on
with the words?
I think these
shall be my
final statements.
My ending, my
time to stop
the fingers from
typing. There
is only one
joining left
to explore;
that of me
in new places,
absent from
the world.
Soft snow
caressing fingers
on a January day.
Fingers stroking
prayer beads
as the thoughts
burn inside.