grip
Learn more about other poetry terms
I am the vine, gripping the bricks on the wall.
I am the paper clip, tightly holding the papers together.
I am the loving arms, that safetly hugs my family.
I am the hold, that never loses its grip.
There is no clear moment when the change sets in,
No preciseness in its hold.
One day, it just has you.
A cold, unfriendly grip,
One you tried to ignore for so long.
