Maker's Hands

"Maker's Hand's" Painted in shades..of glorious..grey's... A face that hangs..with dark shadows.. Hands that look weathered ..furrowed and strong.. Only the wind..on a mountain belongs Shoulder's of waves.. cast over graves.. Centuries of king's.. buried in caves.. Only the wind..sings in perfect song.. Rising with thunder..clouds darken under.. Angry that I in my castle..would hide.. Strong as I am..face of a man.. Wondering..how this could be.. Always a guest..at a banquet of stars.. Assuming that I belong.. Fainting..for shame..that my fear is to blame.. Afraid of the Maker's hands... My castle...a shell..my body a hell... Composed of my own demise.. I fall to my knees...and plead..that he see's through my bravest..wasted disguise.. For another day ends..as a child..I must rest.. A thousand years..in the shadows.. The moment is gone..The storm traveled on.. And Heaven...awakens my soul.. The sun..shines..on me.. The ocean is still..and I am set free.. From the sins..that had haunted my dreams.. Like a bird..from a cage..I escape in a rage.. And I fly as high..as I can.. Far..Far below..is a slave..in his sleep.. How I hope..he's set free.. In the morning. T.C. Fulton