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Poetry

I stretch forth my hand
Knowing not what I shall touch...
A tender spot,
An open wound,
Warmth,
Pulsing life,
Fragile blossoms,
A rock,
Ice.

I am tentative, trembling...
Wishing to avoid hurt,
Wanting to link my life with Life.

Lonely, I desire companions
Naked, I long for defenders.
Lost, I want to find...

to be found.
Will I touch strangers
Or enemies
Or nothing?

My hand is withdrawn
But still it touches
My vulnerable skin, my furrowed brow,
My empty pocket, my full heart.
Do others reach, ­tremble, withdraw?
Do they desire, long, seek?
Are they lonely, fearful, lost?
Will they grasp a tentative, trembling hand?

I stretch forth my hand
Knowing not what I shall touch...
But hoping...

 

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