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Empty HandsWe live in a world of couples, significant others, best friends, partners. I watch lovers on the streets, hand in hand, making their declaration of acceptance to the outside world. I look down at my sides and see empty hands. Hands that once felt the gentle touch of a lover, hands that guided children to adulthood are now empty and alone. They are stuffed in coat pockets to hide their pain and longing, hoping that some day, they will again be full of life and love, fingers clasped within another's, making that soulful connection and feeling in step with the world once again. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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