The Hand.
The hand! What is the hand?
A tool to pluck the eye when sorrow is past thought?
Or a gentle musician that caresses a lonely tune?
And dances for the heart,
As doorway to the soul,
And, yes, too, some would have it break a branch,
And build by it's destruction.
This hand, this sword this gentle piece of work,
Crafted beyond mastering,
Yet able to turn and touch and serve.
No more willing slave! No more co-operative friend,
The one true thing of beauty.
You scar it and it heals,
Force it to great extremes and it will break before it yields,
In reverence of it's master; in willingness to serve.
Twins encompass the air and circle to and fro,
In the majesty of touch.
-
Author:
David Wakeling (
Offline) - Published: October 20th, 2024 16:56
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments2
Tribute to a part of us we often take for granted unil we loose it. Some powerful lines (a tool to pluck the eye when sorrow is past thought) great use of opposites (and build by its destruction) Very nicely done.
Thank you very much compadre
Touch is so important in many ways in our lives DAvid.
Andy
It certainly is. Thanks for commenting
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.