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Trepidation at it's best.
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Trepidation at it's best. |
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oh_ok Junior Member
since 2009-07-20
Posts 17 |
Hands clasped with the hands of others; fresh blood streaming to my left hand from the stranger at my side - fresh blood from a newly cut wrist and their tear stains on my shoulder. Un-whole and broken by different things. Meeting with the sweat of my own pain, salty and nervous on my guilty palms. Both silent by trepidation and fault; drops on the ground, more bold then us. But to my right hand, I felt a nudge, a gentle indication to release my fist. A new hand, like my own but clean until it took the sweat, blood, and our tears. Yet no guilt, no "look what you've done", no shame to my own deeds, just a grasp. I cried, "Release the lock from my gate! Let the lot make me love you further!" A disappearance into the shadows, then a reemergence into the light. Just as it was old, everything was new. The sun came up, and our hands were still holding. [This message has been edited by oh_ok (11-08-2009 04:30 PM).] |
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