Holding Hands

See them meet.

The childlike wonder on their faces. 
The rapture. The anticipation. The thrill of touch. 
The exploration of joints and gaps. 
The overwhelming rightness of it all. 
Fuzzyheaded with the joy of the moment.

See them live.

Interruptions and pressure. The mundanity of living drapes their shoulders and they have no time. 
To last, they fight and claw and push through the fog. 
To the last, carving out a safe haven; a home for their souls. 
It is delicate and easily broken, yet made to endure, if cherished and chosen. 
They grip harder, for the sake of a vow.

See them fade.

Worn. Bent. Glassy-eyed and frail. 
Forgotten by most, remembered by the other. 
Days filled with emptiness. Nights vacant of wholeness. 
Time has waged its war and it will surely prevail. 
Yet a gentle touch is the defiant howl in the face of all that seeks love's demise.

See them love.

Phill Lytle
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Phill Lytle

Phill Lytle loves Jesus, his wife, his kids, his family, his friends, his church, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, 80s rock, the Tennessee Titans, Brandon Sanderson books, Whiteheart, Band of Brothers, Thai food, the Nashville Predators, music, books, movies, TV, writing, pizza, vacation...

2 thoughts on “Holding Hands

  • December 21, 2015 at 9:31 am

    Phill, I appreciate this poem more every time I read it. I sincerely hope you keep at it and we see more poetry from you. Well done, my friend!

  • March 11, 2016 at 7:33 pm

    Love it! You’re a poet and don’t know it. Now, maybe you know it.


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