They have everything, these pale boney fingers.
Soft, but not softest, for once they held you.
Moons ago and deep in humid human heat.
They extended the million miles of your body.
They touched one moment of your lonely life.
They felt what your heart could not.
Said sadly as fingers lost grip.
Too rough to hold the dearest thing tight.
And you slipped, oh how you slipped away.
These pale boney fingers.
Of all the things they hold.
They could not hold you.
Copyright 2004 XCryingMinotaurX
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