A Mothers Hands

A Mothers Hands

Memory has fashioned a thousand phantom hands,
and every one of them disappears
the moment I reach to hold them.

They haunt the quiet chambers of my heart,
where a mother's touch once silenced every storm.
I search the shadows for the warmth I knew,
but find only echoes wearing her name.

The years have stolen the sound of her footsteps,
the earth has hidden the hands that held mine,
and the cruel silence of the grave
whispers that I must learn to live without them.

Yet death has forgotten one eternal truth—
it can bury the hand,
but never the love that shaped the soul.

For beyond the veil stands the One
whose hands were pierced by love itself,
holding every tear, every memory, every prayer.

And one day, when graves surrender their secrets,
the hands I have searched for in the darkness
will no longer be phantoms—
but a mother's hands reaching for me again
in the light where sorrow cannot enter.

                                                                                                     ~~JHF