HOLD MY HAND 

All that surrounds me 

Is a stench of fears,

Suffocating the buds of faith 

That attempt to sprout 

From fallen graces. 

My fingers tremble 

At the grip of expectation;

They bleed uninjured, 

And die of weakness. 

Hold my hand even now, 

And save me from these fires 

Devouring my soul. 

©1916