Fingers That Grasp Mine
I stand on the top of this hill and look down
I shall let it all go, and walk away.
Letting these times go, like letting go
Of those warm fingers that rise up
To grasp mine out of a welcoming bed
As I turn away to face the new day
That creeps out of the darkness
We tried to keep at bay under those warm sheets
In the comfort of moments held close
As though we could hold back time
And reverse the tides that flow
All over our lives and out
Into the wide forgetting seas
Washing such precious times away
Never to be found again.
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