Hands

Hands

I see these hands
and how I wonder
are they winning,
do they blunder?

Are these the hands,
did I use them late?
can I use them now
to change my fate?

Some hands grow up
with a clenching fist
some hold on
while some are kissed.

There are the hands
that hold the match
some stay at home
behind the latch.

One keeps the straight
and one the narrow
some hold the bow
that shoots the arrow.

One counts money
and one counts coin
some lay limply
some want to join.

One wants a rest
and some want to feel
some take a test
so all of us heal.

There's hands held high
to blot out the sun
the hands of a young man
he's holding a gun.

Some hands learn fast
the secrets of wood
some were just made
to do only good.

With one we write words
we use everyday
with palms together
we learned how to pray.

Some hold precious
the gifts from above
others seek hope
and the power of love.

Hands of the young
and those of the old
one reads the story
the other was told.

Some hands will paint
with loving care
the sweetest Angels
with golden hair.

Some hands shake
as Autumn winds call
others reach out
to stop our fall.

Many hands hold us,
never to part
some hold us close
to a loving heart.

I can't always tell
what these hands will do
but one thing's sure,
they'll be holding you.

© Copyright 2006 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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