When you reach out to the end
who was there holding your hand
How many fences need a mend
As you traipsed across the land
Should maladies strike you down
Is there one that would be around
Someone to hold you close and tight
The one sharing your soul at night
Simple pleasures are easy to obtain
Without any effort and lack of strain
As nights encompass cold pouring rain
Consider your part too in the blame
Staring into the faces of humanity
Coming to grips with the certain last
I often ponder at our life's sanity
Watching the lot that Love does cast
Who will be there holding your hand?
What did you think
Comments
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Thank you Terry-too for the comment. I see that you did a great job of analysing this write. I must say it was refreshing to see your views and how things pertained to your whole being. I appreciate you stopping in and mulling this write over. Thank you again.
HammeR -
You ask good questions; I wish my answers matched.
Read this several times, but reply not dispatched--
As with hen's eggs I had to wait until they hatched.
Or not. We'll never know when thoughts are snatched.
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Verse 1, quick answer--God?
I won't go there today, because it was not intended.
I would not give personal answers but for the word "you." At my age I have looked at the end several times through accident, illness, and despair.
Past that now, older and wiser? Perhaps just happier, because so many things do not matter. A personal view, on approaching 80.
Back to what you ask: Nobody. Not really. I disappoint everyone by who I am. Even Family.
I have no fences--it is an open world.
Verse 2, Quick answer, no. Once again while not alone, all assume they know me, they do care and show it, but maladies have struck me down and only the doctor cares. His job. Family and friends... from duty. There are tears in the last two lines. Did anyone really, ever know me? You do ask good questions.
Verse 3, quick answer, yes. Of course. Early assumptions die hard, but they fall in the face of realities. My blame? Acceptance of my lot. Vow never to hurt others. A bland solution, but good even so, avoiding a lot of grief.
Verse 4, there is no quick answer. The microcosm of Life gets trapped in Self when essential love is missing, relegating all into mere usefulness. Your poem with its points of focus clarified what I had known but shoved aside until the final years of stock taking where I am now, too late for everything.
Finally? Last line. Change it to the future tense:
Who will be there holding my hand? My dad, who died of a massive stroke, much much too young.
I knew this poem spoke to me the first time I read it, but it took time for me to find out what it said.
Thank you.
Terry
PS some technical things follow by IM.
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