Jakob Towell | + Follow Poet |
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Drops

To seek a feeling as my own
To guide the hand of my thoughts towards it
Feeling, prodding, tearing for an eternity
Flawless with my destruction
For in time, having come finally due
It wears down
Slowly, softly reminding me
Who I am, cannot sustain who I desire to be
To seek a hand in comfort, perhaps, is but a dream
For with a mere thought, I feel aged
With every morning I look into myself
Seeing ink peek from beneath my skin
As if to say hello
And with each passing glance, I ache to hide from it
Feeling my stomach turn in knots
Petrified, I will ever be
For living as what I see is so painful
To wake into the darkness, covered in sweat
Merely praying for a new sight
Knowing this hand of mine shakes
How am I to hold such a hope so steady?
As with each movement, I watch
Fragile hope dripping between my grasping fingers
While each drop that falls to earth
So beautiful is the sight
For past and present memories fly,
Freely for but a moment
As they thunder into the ground
With each drop, so violently shaking my body
Never, may a wandering ear hear the crack of lighting
Never will they open this door,
Helping me try to catch each passing moment
For like the rest of time, I may never tread backwards
Simply to watch myself, repeatedly
Reach desperately for each moment,
Just to slip between my ever so panicked grasp
Never knowing peace in this bubble of time
I watch each act so thoroughly
So patiently waiting for myself to catch even one drop
How many hours spent in my life, have I spent
Simply crying, watching myself never succeed 
For in vain attempts, I reach for the hands of passers by
As if reaching for a cloud, as I fall past the Heavens
Never did I lay purchase to any
Now, my body grows weary
Crawling, begging for that one last drop
To allow this to end

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