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| Photo by Aditya Romansa on Unsplash |
This poem was inspired by a piece I read where someone shared as their father laid dying, what she realized he needed most was for her to simply sit with him quietly and hold his hand.
= = = = Hold My Hand
by Marilyn R . Wilson
Touch.
The forgotten connection
That warms, lifts us up
Comforts our aching soul.
From first breath to last
The yearning is primal.
A plea that flow outward
Calling to those around us.
The embrace of a hug.
A gentle pat or sweet kiss.
Deep strokes to ease pain,
Light ones to bring calm.
Arms lifting us as we rise
Or guiding us as we lower.
Intertwined as we dance gaily
To music that brings joy.
But the greatest touch offered
Is the simplest of all.
A longing often unspoken,
"Hold my hand."
As a toddler begins walking
Our hands work to steady.
When a child dares walk a precipice
Our hands keeps them safe.
When success come to visit
Our hands clap in applause.
If a friends hails from a distance,
Our hands wave in response.
When we marry, when we walk
When we meet and as we leave,
Touch comforts and unites,
Fills the silence when words won't come.
At the end of our journey.
Drifting between this world and next
No words needed, just your touch.
Hold my hand.
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