The Healing Hands

 #NaPoWriMo2022 

#ArtoonsInnPoetryParlour

#Day3

Childhood Memories 

My world was a shell 

With open spaces

That let the sunlight in. 

Those open spaces 

Now have clouds of 

Of grey dust 

That smother the dreams 

That dance within my heart. 

The skyline now 

Has steel grey structures - 

Dreams that other people have welded.

My world is still a shell

With edges chipped

By cold storms.

They cut my skin  

And I let them be -

The wounds and the scratches.

The blood that drips 

Dries up and my skin shrivels

Into a memory of a lesson learnt. 

The angels

Who brought me here  

Would never have let me be. 

The aches and pains 

Would surely have eased  

With a gentle touch 

Of their healing hands.

Image - Christin Hume ( Unsplash )