He sat there holding on tightly
There was no way it would come loose
But whilst he held it in his hands
Well, he felt a kind of peace
Almost as if it represented sanctuary
At peace except when he felt threatened
That someone might take it away.
But as he held it tightly in his grip
The sweat from his hands was tarnishing it
Causing it to lose its shine
He could see something in the distance
Like sparkling water glimmering, calling
He pulled again but could not get free
And if he let go and went to see
Would it still be here when he returned?
And that glimmer on the horizon
Who knows what it really is
Just an imagination, a hope, a dream?
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/letting-go-48/
