Angie Sharp | + Follow Poet |
Rhyme | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

My Empty Hands

My weary hands reflect the works of my life,
and my heart is humbled by the countless tears I shed.
I blind myself to the good I've done,
only to judge myself harshly when I'm in bed.

Every day I measure who I've become
by the sight of my empty human hands.
It seems that I lose a piece of my soul,
when life knocks me into despair's sands.

Time keeps aging the fragile skin
that holds youth's beauty in its place.
Each proud mirror that looks at me,
sees sorrow's wrinkles ironed into my face.

My empty hands reflect my soul's story,
but my pride has clouded my own sights.
I hold grief's hand so tenderly,
as life guides me through my heart's broken nights.

Copyright © Angie Sharp | Year Posted 2009

Please Login to post a comment

Sara Kendrick Date: 9/19/2009 4:26:00 PM Very expressive Rhyme. I often say that I see my mother's hands come through my sleeves now that I am older. I like the way that you used the Metaphor. Keep writing. Sara Login to Reply

Hyle Chu Date: 7/2/2009 7:26:00 PM My mom's hands show a story of determination. They're empty, too. The ring has gone, and the money isn't there. Your last line, "...my heart's broken nights." is very creative. I tell my mums, "You still got me, and your story isn't over yet." Login to Reply