When cold hands wave and stretch outward
Will you be there waiting on the other side?
Each time the story is told,
I hear the voices that beg me bold
They say you’ve got too much to do
That I have nothing to lose if I care less about you
Sometimes I believe, I accept what they say to be true
Then I remember, cold hands won’t wait
When it’s time they’ll lay me straight
Hold me blind to the tears and numb to the pain
My soul will loom, my breathe will stop
These things I know but what I don’t
Will I see your stainless face?
~ SM
Words Become Me 
Fantastic.
Thank you!
Cold hands, with the memories that created them, march
Somewhere up there, where a different story is told,
I have heard the oldies say some fingers wait behind
Not many but a handful.
Never seen the holders of those stories
Only its bearers.
If the fables are true, why leave to chance!
Never leavie behind the pulse that draws memories.
Or so they said.
The stories are many. Some true, some unknown.
When the sun wakes. If it wakes. Be here.
Till then, let the wind sweep away the broken leaves.
Wow! Thanks. Will submit poems to you for 2nd verses going forward! 😊