Gripping on to you.

Once again I can't make a description this is something/ idea that came to me.

I grip your hand,

For dear life trying,

To make sense at,

What was going on.

Crowds of people pass,

Us not even looking,

At us.

But some how I,

Feel like the center,

Of attention as if,

some sort of bright,

spotlight was following us,

On a stage.

I grip harder on your,

Hand them I hear some,

sort of cracking but,

I didn't care I,

Shant lose you in,

The sea of people.

I grip as hard,

As I could on,

Your hand, to you,

It must have been,

Like having a ton,

Of bricks on your,

Hand sinking slowly into,

Your skin.

But yet you feel,

Nothing as if I am,

Not gripping your hand.

But that hand that I gripped,

Gripped onto so tightly,

Disappears and thats when,

We stop and I,

Fall to the floor crying,

Tears that are so cold and wet,

That they feel like the,

Artic waters but you,

Smile as you kneel down,

And brush my Artic tears away,

But as I reach to touch you,

Back you disappeared into,

A cloud of dust and,

The rest of it on the floor.

In a small pile it is,

On the floor I curl up,

And I began to weep,

In hopes you will,

Come back, and the,

Sea of people pass,

Me without a single,

Glance in my direction.

Author's Note

If you have a mean review to put at least put something positive too.

Reviews

[The Mad Prophet]

I see nothing to construct you by other then you said you had troubles with your discription. If you had a feeling to capture with this poem, that would make a more dramatic discription. There is a few of my discriptions I need to work on myself. Other then that, this was well writen, very nice feeling. The guy walking in a crowd of people had to cling on to something that was not there just to get through the people. Very creative, very interesting. Well done.