Dead Hands of White

January 15, 2013

Touching, breathing…believing;

believing in ourselves.

Believing in the taste of something

that is far more tangible than the air;

something only we have.

No one else knows it exists

because no one else can know of its’ existence.

I…we…us, live in it.

Timeless, I watch the long hand disappear.

No clock-maker is great enough to bring back the click of the hands.

They are banished; for now

5 Responses to “Dead Hands of White”

  1. Allesor said

    Again I relate to you and all things as we are nothing…and yet nothing is everything as are we. Gracias y amore.

    • ohcgd108 said

      Your very welcome

      I wrote this just after meeting Annie. I was outside, waiting for her to get off work, when it popped out onto paper…which then became cultivated into an hour glass

  2. idebenone said

    We were before your freedom and peace. We were better. Many hands have held the deed to 1140 Royal Street, but it’s always been my house. Always will be too as long as I who have no hands can choke a person from their sleep. I sometimes wonder if the Quarter tour guides are aware that every time they give their speech and list our crimes I stand among the tourists taking snapshots of my house and wait to hear news of my husband, why he isn’t here.

  3. Elissa said

    Way cool! Some extremely valid points! I appreciate you writing this post plus the rest of the website is very good.

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