My Hands

My hands are clenched into fists
Knuckles white, bulging like boulders of rage
They tremble with the weight of repressed fury
Itching to lash out, to break something, anything, everything 
Each finger is ready to poke hard, judge and condem 
A violent storm of chaos and pain boiling beneath my skin

My hands, once full of vibrant life
Creative and healing
Now they just rest here, useless
Still, void of life like dead, wilted flowers
Where vital energy once flowed through
Now tired, worn, barbed wire around my bones
Fingers that once held love, held hope very tight
Have become gnarled and weak,
Grasping only the black emptiness of sorrow

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Beata Agustin

Date: 1/18/2025 6:09:00 AM

Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Welcome to Poetry Soup. I welcome you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.