Poetry: Gentle Hands

Updated: May 3

Encased within a pure porcelain cage

Rests a crimson beating lump

Cushioned on either side by pillows of breath

Gentle hands wrap themselves around it

Squeezing upon my pulsing tissue

Crushing me beneath the weight of mere words

Preventing the ruby liquid from escaping

Slowly it seeps through the narrow valves

That are quickly closing off the exit

Suddenly it speeds through a wide tube

Briefly glancing at potential paths

Never considering coming to a halt

Flooding further downwards

One almost unreachable goal in mind

Awaiting the pinch of a golden tunnel

Locking it in a place of safety

Whilst still giving it the freedom to move

Realisation strikes as it touches the tips

Its circular cells had circulated too far

Entering the uncharted territory of knowledge

That everything comes to an end

But if so, why does it keep coming back?

To place where it all began

With your gentle hands

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