Cradling my soul in my hands I move forward with trepidation, petrified I might trip and send it skidding across the unrelenting floor. In my hands something precious. A part rarely seen out of body. Soul in hands, heart in mouth I move forward, wishing I could embrace the fear that shudders through my being.
My soul an underdeveloped child wrapped in the warm embrace of my shaky fingers’ steepled roof. A scant protection from the elements but all I can do in this panicked state.
JC
I really love this piece - even the punctuation keeps the pace right and I could really picture the 'soul in hands' but for some reason the second reference to 'Soul in hands' jars and I am not sure why - is it needed or does it need to be re-written. Not sure, otherwise just lovely. Hope you bring in on 17th.
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