Holding Out My Hand


Dawn breaks in weary solitude,
with remnants of exhausted beauty
shattered and scattered.

Defeat lay evident
like a threadbare prayer rug,
ripe for uncaring soles
to blindly insult.

Although solemn day
bears witness to wounds,
seclusion is voluntary

and love can be found
in friendship
if only two can recognize
the promises
of an outreached hand.

© Beth Winter, 2016

Public Domain Photo