Cold Eyes, Closed Hands

Cold Eyes, Closed Hands

What sleep we breathe and love we spend
To feel our voices home again;
These ships that pass in thunder winds
Return to spirits waning thin.

And out from each a finger flies
And darts to where another lies -
Each gapes and hopes to recognize
The touch of one upon their eyes.

But few are they so keen of sense
Can drop their sheathing sorrowments
And grasp a stranger’s soul intent
To make for both a recompense.

Whenver I post anything up here - whether it is a piece of creative work or just a thought process for the day - I'm looking for criticism and insight. If something strikes you as strong or poor, I'd love to hear why. If you think something could have been done better, or if you disagree, tell me. I do love to hear the sound of my own voice, but that's not why I post - I post to hear other people's. After I hear my own. Which is sweet and soothing.