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There are no pillars of fire to—
gather around; the clouds, they
deluge the prayers to and fro.
The deafened rumblings racing

the pouring torrents, as they
try to reach out, to answer,
and frown like morose protests,
like restless tantrums; and I—

I can only gasp for air.

Like salvations and unmet counsels.

Remembrance follows ever-dearly;
shuffles carelessly amongst hasty—
coronations of dusted amber,
of dubious prints on the sand,

and it comes along, lavishly.
Esperance creeps tauntingly:
I wonder if it’s within me,
to reach out and sear the weave—

with conjoined hands, praying for air.

Like revising sextants and astrolabes.

Dread is a candle in the dark,
nestled tightly into the fingers
and burrowed deeply into—
hands; they choose to hold on.

Blessed are the hands that harrow
and lean to the curtains of twilight,
to the lenses of hindsight:
merely debtors, to the fealty of morrow.

I can no longer grasp for air.

Like rainbows after a downpour, like chrysalides striking an impasse.

Holding it in.
Jeremy Betts Apr 30
Given a hand to go hand in hand in the park
Only allowed to be enjoyed in the dark
And as I curse the idea of an always present silver lining
I notice it to be easier to witness the splendor of our spark

How do you talk to others,
Dark past haunting knowing name.
Virus killing our brothers,
Do you dare tell blood the same?
No, you cower away ranks,
Afraid from confrontation.
Fear not, mere poems are pranks,
I don’t care your damnation.
Your eternal life is dead,
Absolved a long time ago.
Not Fleance, you’re poorly lead,
It took me this long to know.
Still waiting for a sorry,
My purgatory starry.
Resurrecting Angels, Daemons In Love With Tangles 14th Poetic Series By Nickolas J. McKee ⓒ 2024.
Create your own story with your
Glistening smiles
Kind words
Loving heart
Acts of kindness
Helping hands
Charitable deeds
Inspiring ideas
Unforgettable imprint
Make it a breath-taking story
A story that will inspire generations to come

Hussein Dekmak
jia Jan 9
the hand has twenty-seven bones.
four to promise you i'll be there always,
four to wear the ring you gave me,
four to touch your lips when you're sleeping,
four to feel how long your lashes are,
three to show you that i'll be okay,
eight to have your face on my palm,
and all twenty-seven to hold your hand.
I shatter into a thousand tiny glass shards of a tea cup

Time did not stop it

Time did not reverse

Hands picked me, held me,
and mended me with gold.
Anne Molony Nov 2023
I kiss you as if to confirm you are here. With me. Not going anywhere.

To confirm your presence.

I kiss you as I kiss your hands, as I rub your hands, massaging them to make sure they are real. In disbelief, perhaps that it is your hand in mine and that I have the pleasure of holding it.

I run my fingers down your back, soft, your arms, sturdy. I clutch a wiry coil of hair, yours, in my fist.

I smooth your face. I kiss your face.

It is soft. It is safe. It is kind. It is right.
Savio Fonseca Oct 2023
I'm hiding Myself,
behind this curtain of 'Rain'.
My Life, has committed Sins
and I'm now, feeling the Pain.
I'm tired of listening,
to the sound of My Tears.
They've been falling and falling,
for way too many Years.
Finally, I reached to God.
With both My Hands Folded.
He kept counting, My Sins
and in the end, had Me Scolded.
Satan stopped counting My Sins,
as they never seem to End.
He pushed a note down My Door,
"No place Here, for U My Friend"
Savio Fonseca Sep 2023
We kept Whispering Our Desires,
beneath the Sheets of White Satin.
Our Kisses kept pouring
and their Words were in Latin.
Our Feelings, Calmly and Gently,
were moaning in Pleasure.
That's When Our Hands arrived,
at the spot they most Treasured.
With My Lips I went Humming,
around Her precious Spot.
With both Her Hands,
She Worshipped what She Got.
Like an Amorous Knight,
I went riding Her Post.
After Our Sessions ended,
I raised Her, a Champagne Toast.
Suraj singh Jul 2023
She gave me her hands
she was bare, serene
and so out and open
and I accepted it
because it wasn't the hands
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the way
she portrait herself
and the spontaneity
that left her

either from her lips
or her fingers

or my poetry
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