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.