Hands of Time

 

I need not tell you my story.

I will show you my hands

so you can study the lines

that have intersected,

created,

loved,

and worked

through this journey of life.

Notice the age

of my veins,

the bruises and scars

that have implemented

inside of them.

Touch my swelling knuckles,

that have pounded so many times

helping in their decay,

silently telling of the myth of me

and the things we pretend

no one sees.

These are the maps

of all I’ve ever seen

and all I have been.

Each freckle,

callous, and break

indents the gestures of my existence.

Admire my extremities

and the way they gently touch your skin,

my hand fitting in yours,

and the pulse of life that runs through them.

We are connected this way,

in the way we help each other,

we comfort one another,

and at times push away.

They are the topographical depiction of my timeline.

 

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17 thoughts on “Hands of Time

  1. This is very beautiful, and so very real of life, and hands. Kind of reminds me of my mother – some sad thoughts, but some good ones too! Thought provoking words indeed!
    Suzy πŸ™‚

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