From a poet

I heard a poem about me
And it made my heart heavy
I don’t think the author know me
I don’t think the reader though particularly of me
I still was certain, that lines were about me
The words fit like gloves, tailored for me
They rested around my hands
and the gestures that ensued were home n me
The poet described the pains my hands caused
How they reached down in the well
pulling tears from the joyous
they held firmly, the lungs of the runner
from caressing to squeeze
– till all was empty and desolate
– till Love was estranged
– till the flood drowned us
– till the fires were extinguished
– till they consumed our souls whole
– till bodies fell limp
– till hope was set afloat
– face down

I heard this poem
And my sorrow was made whole

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