Tiny Hands
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it stretched ever so far into the green, cold shadow the water bruised black beneath us without a star to unfold, or hold, as she shivered with fear her tiny hands reaching for the man standing near. water splashed at the sides the engine stank of diesel, laughter hid tears— the fears of what came next. the storm cloud, green-iced, moved in layers the water choppy and frayed no care for the strangers inside nature’s vortex a quiet human hell— would they survive, who could tell? and still she clung her legs slipped sideways as the boat twisted toward the deep, the metal bars wet beneath her hands racing against the clock of permanent sleep.
she swallowed salt water as the boat went under tasting metal on her tongue, as if the sea itself were now a weapon, her tiny hands letting go but gripping the rusted rail with the other no one really noticed for the storm drowned every voice all fighting for their life before being taken asunder. and when the rain came it pelted, the fishing vessel tilted partly submerged and her tiny hands gave up the fight no one else to hold her upright. she wondered in that moment of nature’s grace how brutal humans are in their race to survive and let the tiny hands die. © Samira Wyld 2025
Thank you for reading another post from Shadows And Midnight Screams where we delve into the world of shadows, desire, and untamed expression. My illustrated collection of poetry ‘Twenty Past Midnight’ is now available as a paperback and you can find out more about that here.
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The real monsters in this world are flesh and blood and consider themselves human. Excellent piece, love! xo
Nice poem . You did an excellent job describing the scenery and the feelings of the character.