Poetry: Empty Hands

Empty Hands

I breathed a plea for another day,
extended credit on a dream.
I searched for life in the crack of dawn,
miracle of daytime magic.
I stole a few moments from my past,
a trip down memory lane.
I bargained for forgiveness of my sins,
life after death to spare.
But when I looked down upon my finger’s cups,
my hands were still empty.
Only stains of a past life remained,
a legacy of nothing, and nothing obtained.

Copyright ©2016 Adri Sinclair