My Empty Hands



Everything I have seems to be slipping

Through my fingers.

Tangible is so temporary

And things I’ve always valued

Are quickly gone

From my grasp.

I moan,

I weep,

I sing.

For while my hands are empty,

My heart is full.

Your love . . .

My trust in you . . .

Intangible  . . .  real . . . true.

I have nothing

Yet I possess everything.

By Martha L Shaw – © 2013

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