The Blessed Hands
I see the fields of a thousand years,
Stretched before my eyes,
And the hard work I've endured throughout those years,
Seeing the fruits of my painstaking labor,
That blood and sweat have produced.
I've rid my fields of the hatred of the world,
Held the bugs of disease at bay,
Kept the rabbits of famine from reaching life,
And squashed the snakes of drought,
Watching day by day the evils dying,
Withering away like the dust in my mind,
Watching my life's work grow before my eyes.
The pain that plagued my heart once,
Is now lifting into the setting sun,
Blowing off into the breeze of yester morn,
Into the whistling ends of time.
Towards the gates in the glorious heavens,
That guide the lost souls of this world,
With their mighty trumpets.
My field is a reflection of my life,
The perils I have faced day in and day out,
And the hardships I have had to endure,
Near to the brink of my own destruction,
And the constant showers of tears,
That once shrouded my blurry vision.
I leave this world with this gift,
To show them what can be accomplished,
Through hard work and sacrifice.
Things can be rewritten,
Fate is not always the way it is meant to be,
You must make it your destiny,
Shape your own future,
Or the crops of existence,
Shall wither and die.
Copyright © Robert Needles | Year Posted 2012
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