If all I have left
Are the gaps between my fingers
And the empty cavity of my chest
And the touch of the air as it lingers
As it waits to catch my breath
These hands, that seem so alien
Stretched out like breaches of a lightning tree
Urging forwards in a endless plea
Hold nothing in their grasp.
But free veins and tort skin
And the pulse that throbs at last
Until this is all I have
All that I have is there
Grasped in my desperate hands
And it would be easy to see falling sand
But I think it's really air.
YOU ARE READING
The Wind
PoetryA collection of poems, short stories and writings. Well, essentially just poems at the moment. Variety of influences I will always be willing to disclose for specific poems. Some are darker than others (see tags for possible triggers). Please commen...
