Corey Brown Poet Prose

These Hands

My hands are weapons used to make war.
My fingers are 10 instruments of passion
fighting for the sake of love.
These hands destroy what they build,
give cure to that they've caused pain.
My palms held the spirit of her bussom:
in turn injured her soul.
Lifted the pillars of society
crushed the hopes of the inspired.
My hands gave birth;
holding the image of the new generations.
These hands communicate
in nonverbal tones and cues
whose gestures suggest a meaning 
often confused.
With these hands I write, beauty
captured as literary pieces. 
A mastery of art; 
an illustration that mirrors the effects on life 
caused by these hands.
My index inverted I point out the 
heavens signifying one love, 
creating peace with the additional two. 
Damn these hands for killing lives,
damn these hands for destroying nations, 
damn these hands for hitting women.
With these ten fingers I make war,
but I'd rather use these hands to make love.

♡Like0

Share Poem

---

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment