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Hands (poem)

Hands come out of nowhere

as I lie in the dark,

the safety of my bed

shattered as they scratch

at my hair, neck and face.

The hands come out from behind my

pillow, out of the drawers,

hands and arms without bodies

grabbing blindly, feeling for life,

coming for me.




A glow in the moonlight – a hand, white,

respite from being held down by strength unexplained.

A hand reaching out to me,

pale and beckoning

I reach out to the white, despite

an impend, the end.


Grace on the horizon as they claw at my skin

Redemption as they dig into me




I reach out for the hand,

my moonlit saviour.

I touch it; it is cold.

Author Jerome Cornelius


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