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In your hand
In this world of sorrows and heartaches,
Some hearts may only know the sounds of grief.
Some souls could not fathom the depth of distress.
"Heaven where art thou?", I used to ask myself.
The anxious sound of heartbeat that does not fade,
Throws the rock of blame to the storm and the rain.
None of my armor could parry the claws that raid
But your sweet love that I so longed to achieve.
And in the darkness of the night that deceives
The claws of temptation - a sorcery unleashed.
The heart so clamors for your divine grace
To guide this heart’s journey on devious fields.
Do thy ears really hear the sound of whispers?
Does thy soul sympathize to the sound of anguish?
Does thy heart have a room for a pint of affection?
Or thy spirit is numb for the voices that clamor?
From the time the sun rises in the east
Until it sets its scarlet face in the west
A question formulates in the mind that hesitates:
Is your love really something that desecrates?
Is your heart really something that chastises?
Do you often rub salt in the heart that grieves?
For in pain the heart exclaims in torment;
Is thy love aloof for one who drops his knees?
But this heart still craves for hope of tomorrow.
May the whispers be heard as to wipe the sorrow
So triumph will flicker in the heart that yearns
And the trace of sadness will forever perish.
Hold me firmly with the hand that cares
So I could feel vividly the touch of caress.
Raise me up, and draw me with your charms.
Cuddle me tightly with your loving arms.
And so in turn, this heart will shun no more.
Cheerfulness will drive the shadows that abhor.
For in my mind I know that I have a shrine
In the bottom of your heart divine.
Edited: October 27, 2022
2022 Marathon Mile 18 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Toney
Posted 2022
Copyright ©
R. B. Cawis
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