Go, Hold Her
`
“Where are you?” she cries to sleep,
though prays she won’t to blurred stars
lingering in the past
Arms of little strength
reach for weakening moments
in dark rooms with plaster feelings
The cold slips beneath doorways
collecting at her feet,
crippling thoughts in glazed over eyes
As sorrowed breezes flicker flames
of the candle she relights,
burning at both ends
A melted wax trance, hot on her fingers
falls in shapes on a barren floor,
question mark drippings
For the answers, not found in any book
no pages of solutions inked
and numbered in reverse order exist
and she says she can’t…she won’t fall,
but she has and she will
to her knees,
go… hold her
Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2019
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