Holding Her Hand

The Promenade, 1918, by Marc Chagall 

I hold the hand of an angel

Our love soars higher than any before us 
She once was only found in my sweetest dreams
Until I feared my soul mate had eluded me forever
Leaving me to spend my time on earth alone and cold
Floating into my world on the brightest, purest of days
Visions I once held high of romance and all it should be
Seemed absurd and silly as we danced and I kissed her lips
I hold the hand of my angel
Our love soars higher than any love before us
Making any fantasies of romance fall short in comparison
To leave me now would surely be the cruelest hand of fate

@ donetta sifford 6-18-2013


2 responses

  1. What a lovely poem … love soaring higher than any before them is perfect.

  2. Quite eloquent – and elegant.

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