These Hands, My Hands
Are someone else's hands
Weathered, weary so wrote with wrinkles.
Dark Hands seasoned, brined by hard work and loving labor
Scraps and scar coved, discolored,
Autographed by forgotten foes
Too numerous to recall
Has it been that long given to the fight?
Needful of care, comfort and healing now
For tomorrow brings more toil
If I am to cease my future from the clutches of nothingness
With These Hands
They must be strong, and steady
Nonhesitatant and to the ready,
Enduring cuts and pains that embed character and courage
Anchoring wisdom and experience
Within These Hands
These Hands, , , are like my Father's hands
When I was a child
With These Hands
I will Forge my Future
david polk
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/these-hands-16/
