His Hands...

His hands...
I watch them intently,
Waiting for what secrets they might unfold
Beneath those fingers that grip the pen
That spills the ink
That makes the picture
That opens my mind
That shows me the world
Without making me leave where I sit

His hands...
They've known everything
And yet they know nothing
They are innocent
But they are tainted all the same
They are brilliant
But misunderstood

His hands...
The writing that comes from them is strange
But the words...are beautiful
Like a flower
They wilt beneath my fingers
And I kept them
Even the ones with thorns
That prick
And sting
And make me bleed with their honesty

His hands...
Have broken me...
But through the pain...

They have made me better

by Amanda Saveley

Comments (1)

this is your best poem...keep it up...no one can break you unless you allow them to...love...nalini