Psalm 8 — A Poem

December 23, 2012 in Poetry · 0 comments

Psalm 8

I stare into the night,
straining to see past the stars,
trying to catch a glimpse of your hands.

My hands reach out,
clean and pale and soft,
the darkness slides between my fingers.

Yours must be worn and tired,
the scarred hands of a sculptor
whose work has faded into obscurity.

The moon floats above,
I huddle in its glow,
a lost child.

I listen to the cold wind,
longing for a voice,
the silence stings my cheeks.

You stand just beyond my grasp —
unfathomable, incomprehensible,
watching from above.

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