Upturned Palms

The comfort and cool of night
seems a distant memory now,
Now that the sweat of day
hangs from a high, grey ceiling.

Up above, where diamond tears
fell without such a need.
Later they are carved from earth
by hands desperate for love.

Upturned palms, once beggars,
struggle for forgotten prayers,
pressed against a pilgrim’s face
marked with a myriad emotions.

Cheeks sink behind the clouds.
Tired light reveals the empty.
The comfort and cool of night
seems a distant memory now.

upturned-palms

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