Sieve -10

A closed fist holds only one handful of sand,
a select handful of memories.
Fear of losing causes the hold to grow tighter,
A desire to hold them, close, to never let them go.

Only few realize to, keep the fingers open,
Causes the sand to fall through the cracks,
But not before they have touched,
Touched and caressed and imprinted,

and when they have passed - the feel of them lingers,
Long after the moment is gone,
So, like sand, memories can be held in an iron grip.
And they will be the only thing experienced.

But, living with hands open,
Feeling, not just one memory, not just one moment-
but every moment, whether soft and comforting,
or painfully breathtaking...

Living with open fingers,
not a fearful fistful, but a glorious sieve,
and ending life looking at the wealth of the life left behind.
all because the hand opened.