Hold On Tight

This poem is an imitation in style of a poem that I love…a poem that someone shared with me and I shared with my little sister and it quickly became an over the phone mantra to end our conversations about how life had been treating us. The original poem is called “Shake the Dust” and if you have not read it you should go check it out or hear it read via the youtube video that I heard it from.

This imitation is for my Sister. I love her so much and currently life is not treating her so well. So here is the deal that I cannot hold anyone accountable to: if you read this poem, please pray for her. Her name is Torrie and she is the greatest person in the world and my best friend. If you are reading this and don’t believe in God or prayer I would ask that you get uncomfortable for a second and just give it a shot. It would mean a lot to me and my family and my belief that God is listening to the loving or bitter and broken desperate pleas of the people that believe in him…or don’t…that is how great God is.

Thanks for praying, thanks for reading, I hope the poem touches you in some way. It was hastily written in my angst and need to express some emotion. If it sucks, go read the original and have a good cry.

Hold On Tight

This one is for the broken-hearted.

 This is for the forgotten.

 This is for the silent men who don’t know what to say and for the hopeless little girls who don’t know how to pray.

 This is for the people—who have never heard those three special words—but still dream of a night when it will touch their lips and cling to them like dew with an everlasting grip.

 Hold on tight.

 This is for the crystal glass holders—the men and the women saying cheers to the lonely dark.

 This one is for the brown paper bag walkers who glide through the streets and for the hurting teenagers just like them following their feet.

 This is for the pill poppers and mixers.

 This is for the ones who drown themselves in hate.

 This is for the girls and the boys that think love always comes—but only too late.

 Hold on tight.

 This is for the ones unknown by all their best friends who have secrets they keep and horrors and they lock deep within.

 This is for all the scars on the wrists. Hold on tight.

 This is for the backless-white-gown wearers—sleeping alone in single beds in sterile rooms with no pictures.

 This is for the families and doctors that gather around them.

 This is for the confused and kept out-of-the-loopers who only hear second hand from neither Fathers or Mothers—Hold on tight.

 This one is for the little sisters and the older brothers who love them.

 Hold on tight.

 Hold on tight and I promise you that all this will end.

 Hold on tight and believe.

 There are no words you can arrange to make pretty sounding answers; even holding on tightly is spoken in grunts and desperate gestures.

 But try to hold on—cling to three special words—words that aren’t left hanging alone—on a cross.

 This is for you.

 Hear the words and breathe them inside, not stopping at their sound but picture them before your eyes.

 Watch holding on tight before you unfold—the healing of scars and the lies you’ve been told.

 What I did—all that screams and is scourged, screams and is scourged…for you.

 This is for you.

 Hold on tight. It is finished. I love you.

By Paul Tomes

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