Previous Poem, Latest Draft, with Title

The Final Hand, By Vicki V.

Fighting is futile,

as loss displaces life.

The Dying one

may be consoled

A warm hand replaces love.

(the hand of God)

The grasp of life trumps love.

But as for a living one

retreating, she entreats

a dark-corner pardon,

as Un-consoled, she

is inconsolable.

Her palm can touch the realm of death.

when Her Only One’s hand

(the slight of hand)

has been withdrawn–

The loss of Love trumps Life.

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