Hands

An older poem from an assignment way back when.

“Hands”

Hands – long lines
The hands tick by slowly, seconds and minutes.
Minutes and hours, hours and days, and more.
Those hands are never empty. No,
They carry much more than time.
Bringing and taking, bringing and taking.
And why should you be an exception?
You were brought, and then you were taken.
No different, I suppose,
Than anything else.