Those fine memories revving by,
Little things that made me happy,and the brittle things that made me cry.
I was alone and there were none,
Neither a shoulder to pry nor an enemy to shun.
There were also those little showers of glory,
Yet those ugly overwhelming darkest passing clouds filled most of the story.
The inner rage was mounting through,
Never did i show,the listeners NONE,not even a few.
Then appeared a hand that helped me cross,
Through all those barriers,straight and gross.
The hand always gave an honest smile,
Oh yes i knew it was true and meant no guile.
It never spoke a lot i must say,
But everything it portrayed suggested it would forever stay.
Easy seemed all those ridges which i couldn’t even pass,
Oh you overwhelming solitude,how does it feel to be at loss??
Forever may be misery,hitherto may be pain,
I know the hand shall be there without any regret or a refrain.