Monday Poem: A Marker

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A Marker

It will all end here, a few stones piled up
to signify another pair of hands
that reached out, but they could not touch the world
which lies just out of reach of stretching fingers
that need to hold onto this world that twists

so easily from the grasp, evades each hand
that reaches out towards it, hoping to touch
and waiting for the world to take and hold
us by the hand and lead us back to a place
we can pretend is something like a home.

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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