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Jan 2019
The warmth of a mug full of that new coffee,
Keeping you from feeling completely numb.
Hold on.

The embrace of the sun's rays as it wakes from its slumber,
Greeting you with a smile as it wakes the flowers, too.
Hold on.

The touch of a hand settling over yours,
Bringing you back to the present.
Hold on.

The wet nose of your dog brushing up against your arm,
Urging you to take them for a morning stroll.
Hold on.

The familiarity of the sidewalk and texture of the leash,
Inspiring you to look at your surroundings.
Hold on.

The welcoming sight of jessamines,
Enveloping you with a vivid yellow.
Hold on.

The sense of home given by that fragrant stew,
Rewarding you for taking that journey outside.
Hold on.

The threat of never experiencing these again,
Commanding you to burn the rope, put the stool away.
Hold on.

The distinct sound of the gears shifting as you type away,
Writing a poem of perseverance and hope.
Hold on.
Someone once told me, "I realized that I didn't want to die, I just wanted my life as I knew it to end." Please, hold on and don't let go,W.
Connor
Written by
Connor  19/Genderqueer/Clarksville, TN
(19/Genderqueer/Clarksville, TN)   
293
     Lorenzo Neltje, Fawn and PoetryJournal
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