The Hand

We run along this path of life

traveling at speeds, meant to outrun each other.

We race in life, focusing on the image we create,

hoping that no one looks deeper then our skin.

We prepare ourselves for the race,

that win, the victory at its end.

We dont see the cliff ahead, 

the cliff hidden behind lies of the world.

We see it in time to stumble over its edge,

left to dangle by the thread of strength in our grasp.

I find myself dangling above empty space,

as my heart beat comes to an abrupt halt. 

I grasp the cliff edge, 

trying to find that life saving hand hold.

I yell out for help, seeking assistance from those who run.

I feel fear build up within,

As realization stinks in that I am on my own.

I come to recognize the impact of the race we run,

as the only response I get is voices echoing "hold on".

The voices echo out loud to me

echoing words of encouragement 

The voices meant to offer reasurance

only leave me in solitude

The voices echoing words of encouragment

leave me feeling abadonded 

The voices tell the same words, 

Yet don't they know words won't hold me in place?

The voices offered with false caring

Echo within as my grasp begins to lossen. 

I hear the voices echo around me

"Hold on", 

I feel the pain within build

As I lose hope for tomorrow. 

I wonder....why I am alone.

Then I start to believe that it doesnt matter.

I reflect at the life I lived

Understanding the race like never before.

I feel my grip break 

Allowing myself to fall I close my eyes.

Filled with dread I feel the air flow by

Then shock replaces my dread, as I stop.

Opening my eyes I look up, and I see.  

I see a strong hand holding mine

Who could this be?

Who would take that leap?

Who would care enough to help me after I had  fallen?

Then I see it....

and I know it...

The hand grasping mine

as ordinary as it looks at first glance

is scared by the sins of our world

there within the flesh rests the scar of a nail . . . 

I then understand. 

© 12/04/2020 Emma J. Willden