December 2013

Hands of Clay

With hands of clay I reached for him,
Smoothed his rumpled hair.
But when I went to call for him
He simply wasn’t there.

He turned his starry eyes to me
As I cupped his cheek.
Glassy eyes, they did not see,
His smile soft and weak.

I held him close and frantically
Cried, sobbed his name.
He shuddered, small and quietly.
In time I did the same.

He turned his head, turned his face
To seek a higher call.
I pleaded that he slow his pace,
He sat up strong and tall.

Hand outstretched for what he sought
He opened wide his eyes
His war won, his battle fought—
Found solace in the light.

With hands of clay I reached for him
And left him in the care
Of the wondrous Hands that molded him—
No longer mine to share.

—Caelan Cheshire

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