It was the hands.
Smaller
More fragile now
Between my fingers
As I held them
Wondering my own path
To age.
It was the multitude
Of collected things
Strewn about those walls;
A pish-posh of souls
Forever entwined
Despite absence
Which made me wonder
What would they do?
What would they want?
Would they even want
To crowd their walls
With the memory of me?
It was the grey.
That cold steel slate
Nature connected
To here and there
Which made me think
Reminisce
Ultimately bring me to content
And a knowledge it was time
To take a step forward,
No,
Several
To ensure my survival
Now
To then
And beyond
As I looked to my own hands
And the passage of time...
©2011cchristopherbess
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