The Hand

Someone laid a hand on my shoulder
It felt light, it felt heavy, know not why,
Gently though the hand rested on it;
I looked up to see whose hand it was
It was a stranger who I had never seen
I wondered what was being sought
Or was something being offered
You may ask why such confusion
But, ah, my friend, these days I live
In nothing but such discombobulation
Where I understand nothing, nothing at all
Neither life, nor death, nor anything between.