These hands have worked the furrowed earth,
And held onto a host of things,
Like crying babies after birth
And dying birds with broken wings.
These hands have dug themselves in soil,
And lifted little ones aloft,
Have held tight to the tools of toil,
And offered touches that were soft.
These hands have held a bedtime book,
Have laid out linens and clean clothes,
And formed into a fist and shook
At crazy kids when anger rose.
These hands have brought a healing balm
To fevered brows of foolish boys,
And they have prayed for peace and calm
Amid rebellious teen-age noise.
These hands have held up signs to stop
And clutched and clung onto a sleeve,
And cupped the touching tears that drop
From hanging heads of ones who grieve.
These hands have held small flames of hope,
As worried wives and mothers must,
And they have held the lowered rope
Of one returned to ash and dust.
And now these hands that held on tight,
That tried to soothe a troubled one,
These hands that trembled in the night
And held old photos of a son,
These hands that prayed for saving grace
And touched a young boys empty bed-
They now just hold a fallen face,
They only hold a hanging head.
A contest entry
- Hands .... by dutch2lips.
700 points, ended May 21, 20 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - I want poems about grief here by trekkergirl.
400 points, ended May 19, 80 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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Very well written, every image is beautiful, a very nice flow, great write!
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wow this is truly full of some amazing imagery. I loved the whole idea of the hands. You described the grieving process very well... and the life of a person and what they do throughout their lives. Excellent write.
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wow, a very strong emotional ending, leaving me with goosebumps
thank you for entering
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Good description of your feelings
Very touching, makes me want to cry. The ending really got to me. You sure know how to describe grief.
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