These Hands
Time wasted.
Time gone.
Alone and empty with nothing to show.
I look down at my hands.
Their empty, red, so much potential, these hands.
Coulda created the world,
coulda destroyed it.
How much have they done?
if they could tell stories….
if they could tell, what they almost had accomplished.
The dreams they started to fulfill
the evils they had committed.
These hands that brought both good and bad.
Time wasted.
Time gone.
The sun sets.
This time it will not rise.
It is bound by a number
it reached the end.
Life flashes by me as if scenery pass a train
blurring as it hurdles past.
Only a mix of colors
a painting left in the rain.
And like it now, there is only an empty canvas left.
Nothing on it
nothing to show.
Time wasted.
Time gone.
I look at my hands.
Did they bring me to this place?
Did they lead me here?
Oh the things they felt
soft skin of a girl, smooth, warm
The comfort of a fire.
The fur of a kitten.
The gritty sand of a vast desert.
They didn’t need light to see the rough walls in a cavern.
But what does it matter.
They cant tell their tale.
It’s a secret that will pass with them.
But they helped me wipe away tears.
They helped pull me up mountains.
They’ve ran down six strings to create beauty.
They’ve written out words that have poured out my insides.
Now they try to grasp the wind that’s blowing me away.
Opening and closing.
I look down
their still empty.
They never held a pen that signed a country into being.
They never felt the steel that won a war.
They never held a newborn baby with hands like his
only smaller.
They never signaled commands to vast crowds.
They never brought someone from the brink of death.
They never had scars made from nails.
They’ve had cuffs around their wrists though.
They’ve shaken from fear.
They’ve clenched in rage.
They’ve felt as dry as bones bleached in the desert.
They’ve fumbled and dropped things
things that weren’t made to be broken.
They’ve left bruises and blood.
They’ve grasped my heart
trying to hold it together as it burst apart.
They’ve covered my eyes at things I could not bare.
These hands
now empty
now cold.
Time gone.
Time wasted.
Copyright © Jeremy Moore | Year Posted 2011
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