Take My Hand

Where are the infinite stars

to guide me home to my place with the Gods?

They are no longer she whispers,

take my hand, and we’ll skip merrily into the meadows:

your 9-5 job,

your pin stripe suit,

your liver;

it matters no more, my love;

take my hand.

Where are the infinite flowers

so we can walk bare footed all night long?

They are all dead she weeps,

take my hand, and we’ll run blind scared into the future:

your family,

your smiles,

your memories;

it matters no more, my love;

take my hand.

Where are the infinite songs

to listen to as we pass across to the other side?

They have been played, she sings,

take my hand, and we’ll cross in silence over to hell:

your soul,

your everlasting soul;

it matters no more, my love;

take my hand.

Tomas Bird - Pear Kindling 2017