Telling Hands
His once smooth, light, tender hands
Now callused, rough and worn.
The veins that once were hidden now
Protrude as purple strands.
Baby skin, now savage wounds
Display how much they’ve aged
And scars with skin worn thin
Leave no beauty left to swoon.
Oh, the stories in his hands
Through years of serving show
How toil, work and suffering
Are engraved in wrinkled spans.
They are the final testament
Where blood once flowed
Whence seed was sown
And piercing oh so evident.
Beyond the seen are other scenes
Unseen by broken hands.
Hands that healed the ones he loved
At his expense, repaid all liens.
Born acquainted with grief and loss
He willingly gave his all.
Driven by love for all mankind
Left His hands upon a cross.
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