Phantom Hands

Phantom hands grasp

When never severed

Reaching, Tearing, Pressing

Few hold long

Many falter

Each leave marks of passing

Which burn

With what once was


Gone are those hands

Which now haunt so vividly

It is those which hurt the most

That we now hold so dearly




Gone are those hands

Which mattered most

In their place

Mere aching ghost

Those who lain so calm

In plans

Are now nothing

But phantom hands


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