Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
When it's taken, a leap of faith,
and, when heart's been robbed of its chime,
When behind the lids eyes take shelter,
and things make no more sense to the mind
When a walk by his side brings the universe to her
and life until now is a wasted errand
All this churning, welling up and heaving
just to feel his touch and hold his hand...
How do you ask your love can I hold your hand? Once.
Glenn Currier Aug 2018
The hair on the back of my hand
glistens in the lamp at night
it tells me I am a man
I am a creature
a thing created.
I did not create myself
even though I act as if I did.  

You made this body
and you keep it alive.
When I look at my hand
sometimes it reminds me of Jesus
who was also a man.

I yearn to feel his touch
his arms around my shoulders.
How often I need his hand
on the small of my back
giving me a gentle shove.

When I picture that hand
in my mind’s eye
I see the hair
the veins that bring the blood
from his heart,
a heart so full
so big it reaches to heaven.

It also reaches into my heart
when I think of his first noticing
and then stooping down
to touch the person on the side of the road
the person nobody else would go near.
I am touched to tears.  

That was the hand of Jesus
reaching down as it does now
to this sinner.
This is another of my spiritual-awakening-moments. I find myself on this site with poets/creators many or perhaps most of whom don't relate to the godstuff and yet I feel at home here standing in this garden and all of its fabulous and rich fruits - creations by these lovely creatures. With gratitude to all of you and to David Chadwell for his web piece entitled: “How low will Jesus stoop?”
writerReader Jan 2015
i want to
touch
the stars with these reaching
words
of mine
with these shaking
hands
of mine
a M b 3 R Aug 2018
are my only friends
the shadows around me
they seem to follow me everywhere
and accompany me
like a friend would
are u my friend?
come and take my hand
bring me into your world
we shall disappear
Salmabanu Hatim Jul 2018
The trees pressed to the earth,
Express mirth,
To seasons worth.
Their foliage,changing colours,
A palette for an artist's valour.
Heat,rain and snow,
Through it all,they simply grow.
Their fruits I love to eat,
Under their shade,to rest I sit,
Upon one of them,I build a tree house for my son,
To play and have fun.
High and low on the trees,
Birds' nests I see,
According to their kind,
Beautifully designed.
I breathe their oxygen,
Through my lungs it courses on.
I drink their rain,
Live on their grain,
For them I should give a hand,
To save them on this land.
Trees are important.We must save them.
Laura Jul 2018
Sometimes you feel kinda foggy
Your hand passes in front of you
But you don't even notice it
That kind of foggy
And it doesn't really matter if you get up and do ****
Or stay in bed and wither away
Because when you pass your hand in front of you
You don't even notice it
Nothing happened

And there's this buzzing in your ears
A weird buzz
That isn't quite a buzz
Almost like a speaker turned all the way up
With no sound coming out
So it's just the sound of the speaker
But it's real faint
In the back of your mind
Foggy like your hand
Passing in front of your face
You don't even notice it

And there's people walking around you
Apparently
But they just kind of brush past
They're *******
They don't say much
And you don't really feel them jar you
They're all foggy
Like your hand
Astra Jul 2018
Hand knitted from day one,
Afraid of who I’ve become,
Alone and unloved by someone who calls herself no one,
Invisible a talent I possess,
Everyone sees me yet please don’t tell me you do,

I remember that songs I use to sing along,
Now as they play I bow my head down wondering if this is that day,

They notice,
Notice who I’ve become,
Notice how much I hate this lady who says she’s me but called me no one,

Miss. No one they say,
That’s me, is it not?
this is the girl I’ve become someone who’s not yet numb;
again don’t forget I’m only afraid of who I’ve become,
Hand knitted from day one
June,4,2018, All rights reserved
Qwn Jul 2018
I'm trying to love you but
you're hand burns when
it touches my cheek
and I've never really been
a fan of the heat.
Next page