His hands... <br />I watch them intently, <br />Waiting for what secrets they might unfold <br />Beneath those fingers that grip the pen <br />That spills the ink <br />That makes the picture <br />That opens my mind <br />That shows me the world <br />Without making me leave where I sit <br /> <br />His hands... <br />They've known everything <br />And yet they know nothing <br />They are innocent <br />But they are tainted all the same <br />They are brilliant <br />But misunderstood <br /> <br />His hands... <br />The writing that comes from them is strange <br />But the words...are beautiful <br />Like a flower <br />They wilt beneath my fingers <br />And I kept them <br />Even the ones with thorns <br />That prick <br />And sting <br />And make me bleed with their honesty <br /> <br />His hands... <br />Have broken me... <br />But through the pain... <br /> <br />They have made me better<br /><br />Amanda Saveley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-hands-4/
