Keep Hold of My Hand

 
You are a fracture in life's wrist, my son.
There's a tight network of vines that twist
and twist, until the splits begin to appear
but it's growing regardless, leaving us guessing.

Your smiles light the back of a universe
and disappear far too quick and
between each smile there are shards
of your fragile soul breaking off to a flicker.
Each fragment you lose is etched deep
in my ever-crumbling structures
by the carpenters of mortality.

Each tear is a well of selfishness
and should never be seen by you
even though
you don't understand
which doesn't make it any easier.

Sometimes when I hold your hand
I can feel a tighter grip under mine
something cold and lacking empathy
then you smile and it's just my hand again.

I can walk you wherever you want
but please don't go home.
Let your hand remain warm in mine;
please don't go home.

I cannot walk you home.