Where is that hand,
That motherly embrace,
Which comforts in its ****** -
That motherly hand I can trust?

Where is that hand,
That warming caress,
Which eases the nerves -
That cocoon of soft curves?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

Where is that hand,
That soothing absence,
Which cradles you gently -
That silence of calm and mercy?

Where is the hand,
That promise of better days,
Which relieves innocently -
That convincing “don’t worry”?

　　There is no rest anymore
　　In thoughts of exile and escape;
　　My being is shaken to the core,
　　My soul bent under the stress.

I don’t understand why you love me
I don’t think I ever will
where I see stretch marks
because my stomach swelled
you see change
where I see scars
because life was too much
and I needed to release some of the agony inside me
you see healing
where I am disgusted
you are patient
and sit with me in my pain
and ask to hold my hand

I don’t understand why you love me
I don’t think I ever will
but I understand that you do
and even when your love is beyond me
and I am scared of it
I will be patient
and I will sit with you in my discomfort
and ask to hold your hand

I stabbed myself with scissors
then I found it hard to stand.
I only hope ripped sinews aren't familiar
in your Hand.

A gentle child of sunlight
losing footprints in the sand,
somewhere on a map, you form a compass
of your Hand.

Hear a universe expanding
without heaven's killing brand.
Fusion of the stars comes bold and tragic
from your Hand.

Metal falls on concrete walls.
You hope that they withstand.
Soft and aching, something burned by fire,
like your Hand.

Sunset skies and flaming eyes
attempt their reprimand.
Desperate for life, you grasp to end it
by your Hand.

Falling down with airplane trails,
surviving where you land.
Digging in the snow, perhaps the frost will
save your Hand.

Thinking of it's suffering
and hate it should demand.
You feel it when you see it, still you cannot
lose your Hand.

When I feel your fingers it's like
lightning's reaching strands.
Are memories like thunder when I reach to
touch your Hand?

I wouldn't know the answer
and my love has come unplanned.
So hold my skin like something lost and found
upon your Hand.

And finally, you find me,
say you hope I'll understand
that when your world collapses, it's just nice to
have a Hand.

the ticking of a well-known clock is always in the background
as we draw breath from a planet designed to accommodate us.

sometimes, it lurks in the shadows
as we fill our hearts with love.
the present takes us by the hand,
so we stay with it joyfully.

other times, it bounces off the cold, white walls
until we cannot remember a day without it.
hope has flown away, so we wander through the past,
trying to find a way to put the noise to bed.

we find a moment that is soft to the touch -  
where the only sound we can hear is laughter.
we hold it to our chests to stay warm
as we close our eyes in surrender.

the ticking finally stops.

before, questions lingered in the air.
weary eyed nights were spent
stuffing yourself into a small box
for someone who only took you
on long, winding, painful paths
where the ends were shrouded
by looming trees and bushes.

now, the air is blissfully clear.
someone smiles when you stretch.
they walk right alongside you.
there may be darkness along the way,
but they will hold your hand through it.
the end of this path is straight ahead -
bright, expansive, and fruitful.

Your hand
On my knee,
My hand
On your hand,
Your arms
Wrapped around me,
And mine
Around you.

the conquered waits
chooses time and place
to bite the hand

Music is like a desperate plea,
to slip back into a feeling far away.
Clawing back a forgotten dream.  
As the song fades, the memory fades.
Those Sunday morning's slip away.

Music is the only element
known to break me down,
and remind me of who I want to be.
As I sit here alone, weeping for what I cannot touch
Lost at sea, the somber serenade of time
Washes over me..

Music slips through my fingers like grains of sand,
A finite youth warm in my hands
Taken by the winds to where it needs to be.
The night in it's wisdom, lets me breathe.
A single note travels through my sleep.
The sorrow of this note unbroken, brings me peace.

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, happy day:}


a born man
is a free man
yet somehow
is living in slavery on a timed boiling pan
is a deaf slave to a throne of what can't do and what can
is a blind king on his throne to the people's command
is a mute reigning with silence to speak up to his land
is a ******* to stop chaos with one stand
is living in the darkest poles denying the sun's shake of hand
and with all that he is still a free man

                                                                ­     ------ravenfeels