The Blessed Hands

The Blessed Hands


I see the fields of a thousand years stretched before my yes,
And the hard work I've endured throughout the years,
Seeing the fruits of my labor,
That the sweat and tears have produced.


I've rid the fields of my life from the hatred of the world,
Held the bugs of disease at bay,
Kept the rabbits of famine from reaching life,
Watching day by day the evils dying,
Withering away like the dust in my mind.


The pain that plagued my heart 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,
And the hardship I have endure,
To the brink of my own destruction,
And the constant rain of tears,
That once shrouded my vision.


I leave this world with this gift,
To show them what can be accomplished,
Through sacrifice and hard work,
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 die.