Whose Hand?
Darkness thick covers me
I can’t see,nor find my way.
Life has no meaning, too many doors
I have no skeleton key.
Hunger never comes
and weakness visits to the bone.
Tears wet my pillow.
Quickly my pains are hushed.
I care not about this mortal flesh.
It brings me only pain.
Life becomes a mocking thrush.
The fragrance of the rose catches my attention.
Death pulls at my mind.
It is cold and I’m so alone.
Then a hand reaches
It grabs in calm prevention.
Whose hand is it?
I wonder!
Written by Sybil Shearin
(c) 2-2003
