Friday, 14 August 2015

On Hold

In your grasp,
Fingers clasp
A ring round wrist,
Thumb prints nestle,
Digits wrestle into
Flesh and skin,
Limb and bones,
Held and honed
Richly owned.

When this grip,
Began to slip:
With sweat-filled palms,
Veins at risk,
Your holy hold
Refused to twist,
Stuck with this son,
Till he caught on...









3 comments:

  1. He never, ever lets go of us
    no matter how hard we may try to fight it
    or fall.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Powerful and moving ... yet rendered with such tenderness.

    ReplyDelete

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