Through Cupped Hands

Poetry

By Jacob Brubaker

Switch:  flick.

Marvel at the concept,
let normalcy impress you.
The fruit of your eyes allows a skewed
view.
Trust me, set your life upon my shoulders.
I will never betray you,
only you do that.

Gear:  click.

I fumble with a compass,
perched by my hand;
immeasurable?
Can you fathom?
But you winked at me, felt
that you understood.

Cog:  clank.

Ring around the rosey.
Flit about with me, friends.
Without fail, the circle will break.
Gone, simple whisper
lost in rushing gale.

Clock:  tick.

You tried to hold on,
tiny fingers clasped water,
and failed.
Needn’t fret,
it was inevitable.

Motion…stop

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