In Your Hands

In the silence of my being
Never empty
Because you are here
Though i cannot
Touch you physically
Your spirit
Warms me dear

Through the early dawn
And into the later
Of the day
Empty is this room
Of stone
But your wishes
I will obey

I kindle up
My tired bones
And clear
My weary green eyes
Lay down upon
My empty bed
And imagine you
By my side

With the twilight
And the dusk
And soon
The ebony
Of the night
I grab the pillow
Next to me
And hold it
As if you, so tight

I manage to make
It through
Day after weary day
Dreaming of you
And your green eyes
Returning i
To you
An uncreated lump of clay!

poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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