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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Hand Puppets Hard, calloused and dirty, it pleaded with me. It had no eyes, no face, no soul. Or so I thought, or didn’t. Yellowed fingernails, dirt covered and trembling faced upward as would a beggar’s face. A sound, perhaps its voice, startled me. I heard nothing but the plea from the open, soiled, begging hand. It seemed to say: “please, sir, please, I was once like you, one of you. I worked, as you can tell by the sinewy strength now buried in despair’s dirt. I touched – the cheeks of loved ones. I held – an infant, a child, my child, and somehow lost my grip on all. I have felt tears, my own tears, running through clenched fingers yet not knowing whose tears they were or for whom they were shed. I know cold, bone chilling, painful cold and stiffness borne of pain, yet cannot, or will not, reach for help and so I beg. Namelessly, facelessly, but not shamelessly. For if I had eyes, I could not look you in the face, nor could I smile or frown, or say thank you. I am but a proffered hand in need, not of help but of sustenance, not of kindness but of indifference, not of awakening but of oblivion.” I listened to the hand, looked not upon the face, and placed a pittance against the enormity of the lifelines torment and walked away. I looked at my hands and wondered what story they told to those who took the time to look at them, to listen to them. I covered my face with them, and I too felt tears running through clenched fingers, not knowing whose tears they were or for whom they were shed. John G. Lawless 2013 submitted to – Your best free verse poem – sponsor – SKAT A
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