May we bet blessed to understand…

what peace there is in holding hands…

be it with our partners

our friends

our daughters

or our sons

If we’re holding hands with one another…

we can’t be holding guns.



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Writing Prompt : Holding Hands

You took it without hesitation 

Unexpected and delightful

Warmth held within such a small space 


Blocks of searching for the perfect place 

Never letting go 

Walking at the same pace


The butterflies fluttered

As the heart skipped beats

Place found, door opened


Brief disconnect 

Sitting inside the loudness

You reach over for her hand again


Hold it ever so softly 

Between both of your hands

Such a sweet and comfortable feeling 


Your hands and hers

Fitting like perfect puzzle pieces

Withing one another

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When you hold the hand of a child…you cannot help but smile

two hands joined that once were two apart

There’s something innocent and pure once they put their hand in yours

you feel it all the way down to your heart.


You may not think it matters much…when an old and young hand touch…

but a memory immediately spikes.

The moment you feel that tiny hand…at once you understand

as you remember what innocence was like.


Your memory turns back slow…to a time not long ago

when you held onto a hand …perhaps an arm

and you know this to be true…how they put their faith in you

and it’s your responsibility to keep them safe from harm.


And though you never go to church that doesn’t mean you do not search

which makes this moment both wonderful…and odd

For when your fingers interlace…as you’re two hands then embrace

you wonder it this is what it’s like…to hold the hand of God.


That’s why old people understand…when a child holds our hand

for a moment…or a littlest of whiles

for that moment we are blessed that their hand in ours is pressed

and that is why we can’t do anything…but smile.




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“Why are you always holding Grandma’s hand?” she asked.

Grandpa smiled…as was his way.

“The reason we hold hands,” he answered

“goes back to that first day.”


“That first day she told me she loved me…

‘Hold my hand’ is all I could think to say

because I knew if she wasn’t holding my hand

I would have easily floated away.”


“But you’ve been married 40 years!” the young boy said.

“I guess I don’t understand.

Why, after all this time…

Why do you still hold her hand?


Grandpa looked across the room at Grandma

the wrinkles in his face turned red…

then he smiled…as was his way


“Same reason.” was all he said.

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The first time they held hands…

as they walked along the shore…

was when they began to understand…


what hands were created for. 

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I had to smile when I heard him whisper in her ear…

as by me this old couple strolled…

“How lucky I am to still be holding


the only hand I ever wanted to hold.”

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They say the very young and the very old have the softest hearts.

That one possesses wisdom while in the other innocence dwells.

Which is perhaps, they say, why these two ends of the rainbow

get along so well.


As I was walking in the park he came up from behind…

He gently took my hand in his…he had something on his mind.


There were birds along the waters edge…

he didn’t wait for my assent…

he pointed in their direction, tugged my hand

and, quickly, off we went.


We chased the birds to our mutual delight…

his grip…determined, safe and strong.

The birds would fly away then fly right back

happy to play along.


He was not afraid to be near the water…

not afraid of the unknown…

Instinctively he knew by holding hands

he was not there alone.


We only walked together for a little while

before his interest realigned…

But even as he toddled off

he left his palm print etched in mine….


I say it matters not how old you are

if you walk hand in hand with a young one often…

every time they slip their hand in yours


your heart is bound to soften.

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