These Hands

These Hands

I look at these hands.
         Oh, so much have I done!
They have caused and wiped away tears,
         From my eyes and from those of others.
They have cradled my niece,
         Held my friends,
And gently caressed the face of the one I love.
         They have brought injuries to enemies,
Blood of my body into my view,
         And damaged my purity.
So much good have these hands done,
         Yet so much bad.
My memory is filled with mistakes and good deeds alike.
         I’ve held the hands of family,
Kissed the hands of friends,
         And taken my grandfather’s hand before he departed.
I’ve hurt myself purposely,
         Abused others for my definition of good reasons,
And stole something so precious while giving what wasn’t mine to give.
         One’s hands say and do so much.
They give.
         They take away.
I look back at my life.
         I look at these hands.