Holding Dead Hands

 

 

She grasps the hands of the dead

Pale, cold, unresponsive fingers and palms

Twined, joined with her own

Place kisses on frigid knuckles

Warm dried lips meeting cooled flesh

She grasps the hand of the dead

Tearful realizations as I stand by her side

Watching Death ruin, taint, stain

The image of a warm, hot, life

Cherished deeply

 

Author's Note

Cp. 9:04AM Wen 08138 'Whats Going On' All Stars Mix fine, here, remembering, funerals make me sick, very tired, is this prophetic (Typed, Brads Comp-House)

Reviews

[David]

This poem is so short, and yet it is packed with so many details that play with the emotions somehow. The way it is written is perfect. Every word seems to fit just right where it is. A very well written piece of work. A verryyyy good read. I hope to read more of your work in the future. Keep up the good work. -Dave-

[Celtic Cat]

Wow. Extremely powerful write. I love that you're standing beside her....good to know she's got live people around her, too.
This piece really sticks to my ribs. It's way deeper than a quick read might have you think. Every line is perfectly placed....and the feelings, well, damn I just can't shake 'em. Or name 'em. Excellent piece, my friend. Another favorite!!!! Stunning.

[Brianna Brie]

Ooooh...morbidly divine. You captured death. Personally, I could never touch a dead body. I wonder if that would change if it were my son or husband.