Precious Fingertips

by Tim D Livingston

What was it like for you here
when you first noticed me?
A teenage wallflower, awkward and quiet.
I wonder what you liked about me.
What eventually became a love
that touched everything in my sensitive soul.
Your precious fingers searching me
inside all of my strangest places
and finding in return
all the love I could ever contain,
aching as it pressed against
the inside walls of my swollen heart,
softl rhythmic sounds that spoke to you
in simple words.

Profound love, young and enduring,
Strong and longing and broken and confused
for something it should have been
or was never meant to be.
And whatever it was or it wasn't, dear girl,
rest assured in your final resting place
where red rose petals, glittering snowflakes,
and yellow butterflies should constantly fall,
and hover and shimmer,
lit by the brightest sunshine rays
dancing between all of the most beautiful things
you remind me of.

Rest assured,
Even though death and the grave
put up their thin, weak veil
no longer to let us embrace.
They have done nothing to soften the
blood flow bursting through every
chamber in my heart to beat the walls
with an ever greater intensity,
So loud that I know you hear it even now
over majestic angel choirs,
lightning and thunder,
and all of the heavenly things
that surround the throne of God
where your fingertips now touch
the heart of God Himself,
whose love for you
would shake the core of the earth to it's knees
if we could feel the sound of his heartbeat.


Posted on 11/04/2010
Copyright © 2024 Tim D Livingston

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 04/06/17 at 07:49 PM

Such a lovely piece about someone gone but who lives so strongly in your heart. Wonderful, and I use that word almost never.

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