Hands

One day, the sense of touch will not matter, I fear.

What I Fear

 

Break the seal. Silence the noise that holds us together.

Sans the meal. It’s always the hunger that holds us together.

 

We live without sleep, but sleep without and within each other.

What is it exactly that pieces us together?

 

I lose count counting stars because I know God has a number.

Our skin and bodies are not what hold us together.

 

Is it language or hand gestures

that hold us together?

 

Is it our ability to think, to theorize?

Is it how we say hello and goodbye that brings us together?

 

Is it the iPod touch or the telephone wires

that keeps us in contact, that strings us together?

 

Oh, I pray with my hands touching each other. Yet I’ll die without your hands,

without His hands or anyone else's hands

There is nothing, nothing, nothing that holds us together.

 

 

Reviews

[Dearantlers]

I like how you put together at the end of every stanza. It's beautiful.