The Map

Her hands looked so very old. Veins protruded like sandhills on a desert. Her dry cracked skin resembled parched clay. Fingers dangled displaying broken fingernails. Obviously this poor dear soul had lived a hard life. It is said that the eyes are the window to the soul. I think the hands are the map to get there !

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Joanna Feltham

Date: 6/22/2021 2:37:00 PM

I really enjoyed your poem. I particularly like the line "Veins protruded like sandhills on a desert" great imagery.

Virginia Gelok
Date: 6/22/2021 4:20:00 PM

Thankyou so much. I do hope to improve my writing, but I too like this poem.

J. Summers

Date: 3/20/2021 12:36:00 PM

You have used some very good imagery in your poem. And your final line, “I think the hands are the map to get there!” was very well done. John

Virginia Gelok
Date: 6/22/2021 4:21:00 PM

I don't think I replied to your comment but thankyou. I hope to get better at this writing as time goes on.