Knotted, gnarled, bruised and cut
Fingers missing and hands no better
Bandaged where raw, torn and sore,
These then are the hands of a leper.
She uses her hands like any of us
They’ve been with her for oh so long
Though the sight of them now disgusts her,
Hands that once caressed and righted wrong.
Now bereft of beauty or touch
An appendage with little feel.
At times she looks at them hoping
That someday they may heal.
We try to stay away from them
No family, these rejects of society,
There are others to take care of them
Most certainly not our responsibility.
But the pain and anguish in every finger
Is a pointer for us, a simple reminder
That we have to reach out, to touch another
For God also resides, in the hands of the leper.
Dann Thomas
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hands-of-god-2/
