Poem #346

These Hands of Mine

In the morning when I wake, 

the first thing I notice are my hands

Cold, hard and stiff

These are mine

Often paranoid, I am cautious and careful to protect them.

These hands

Watching every corner, anticipating every step

My feet guide them

The times are quieter now

The touch is softer now 

But how about a joke?

A good laugh?

You have my permission

Call me Mr. Krabs, or perhaps

Edward Scissorhands

All for humor and a time to be glad

But remember,

these hands are mine

But the times are quieter now

the touch is softer

I cannot bend my fingers

I cannot snap them either

And in the midst of a crowd, 

I cannot clap and join the ominous roar of a concert

But even still,

these hands remain

Fingers, thumbs and everything, 

All, of course, still in tact

There is a time, however,

When the hands are lifted in the air

To pray, to praise

and...

From the bottom of the gut,

From the bottom of the belly,

With bellows and bawds

I CRY!

Praise JA, Praise YAH!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

When this time manifests,

Do me your best with your compassionate heart

and kind words, 

Say

Beautiful, beautiful

"You are beautiful!"

But never forget, always remember

These hands...These hands...My hands...

are Mine

Photo credit: Samuel Alderete

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Currently reading: 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos

Currently listening: The Best of Leo Rojas New 2018 | Leo Rojas Greatest Hits Full Album 2018

Pain-level: 2

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@godsplan1989