Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Hands to Hold

Wrinkled old hands
entwined with young and soft ones.
The silence is peaceful
and understood.
You're tired,
so I won't talk too much.
I look at you
and only hope
that someday, someone will come
and hold my wrinkled old hands
in their young, soft ones.
Then someday when they look at me,
I will remember my youth
and feel young again.

7 comments:

Dan Mega said...

I like it Colleen. It leaves nothing else to be said.

Colleen said...

Hey Dan, Thanks ;-)

~**Dawn**~ said...

That is lovely, Colleen. Makes me remember my Gram...

Adventurer w/o Borders said...

Awesome poem: thematic clarity, captivating imagery, and structural symmetry.

Adventurer w/o Borders said...

Auugh! I just re-read my comment and realized that I've become my dad.

Susan Kelly Skitt said...

Beautiful...

bonnie said...

I have a thing for old arthritic hands. They always pull on my heart strings. My mother rolls her fingers in a ball so no one can see them, and I always uncurl them. They make me want to love and feel loved. They make my eyes tear. To me they are beautiful!