• gwencanfield2 6w

    Hands

    The hands, a person's story.
    Living in the flesh.
    Its story, told
    In every scar and crevice.
    It can speak volumes
    Of how they worked.
    Lived out their days on earth
    Was it hard physical labor?
    Or a career, more soft?
    Well if the eyes are
    The windows to the soul.
    The story of a person's hands
    Are what makes the story whole.
    It shows that soul,
    That inner life.
    Walked out among others
    Through sweat, blood, and flesh.
    I wonder what my hands say
    What they might tell you.
    Will it speak of all
    The inner worries, anxieties
    With nails all bit out
    And do they speak of my early despair?
    And that that same fear
    Still follows me here.
    Will my nails
    Like a tree trunk
    With its nutritious swirls
    Speak of the fight
    Not of my own making
    But the one forced on me from birth.
    The fight to constantly battle
    And worry with fear and shame
    About my looks and heavy weight
    Never meant for my once
    Pretty, athletic frame.
    Your hands, they speak volumes
    To me, who am patient to see,
    I hear them whisper softly
    Of loneliness, anger and rage.
    But also there's a timid gentleness,
    That softens amongst the lines
    Scribed deep into your hardened hands
    Hands rough on the surface
    Stoic and proud of all their accomplishments
    The hard days journey to night
    Muscular but still agile.
    Not too beefy,or ever losing sight
    Of the purpose of the hands in life.
    Which is to touch, affection shown
    The physical inspiration
    Of the spiritually felt love
    Love seen through the
    Eyes soulful window
    And demonstrated in the here and natural.
    With the tough of the hard
    Some people say it all
    Their hands pale, clammy, and cold.
    Just like their stone cold hearts
    Others rough, but fat with gluttony
    Serving only themselves.
    But together our hands
    They tell even more
    As we walk along
    With them clasped in
    Each other's arms
    Or when viewed in our moments
    Of intimacy, with that sweet, soft
    Touch that together we’d found
    You, my man, and i, Your hopeful lady
    Yet our hands the same size and form,
    for those to look at, mirror images be
    And yet same size but far different when
    Viewed in comparing personality.
    This shows further reason
    For our close compatibility
    You're strong and hard but
    With tender inner softness
    Mine weaker, normally soft
    But weathered in look
    And from great sorrow born.
    So each, holding and displaying
    The teeter totter within
    Our own solitary being
    We balance ourselves quite
    Nicely with that humanly
    Character misappropriation
    So then, why do we still go and seek out?
    With that balance
    Already born within us?
    Why had we bother still
    Been looking, hopeful, and seeking out
    Both somehow knowing that dichotomous strength
    Within the weakness shown outward.
    The weakness was usually not normal
    It was written within one soul
    Because fire born near water
    Soon fades and washes out.
    These two important elements
    Hot and cold, strength softened somehow
    By something good
    The physical metereed with the soul
    Were usually not as one
    Although always meant to be that way
    These opposites searched for each other
    Year after year, opposites attract, seak
    The other one out
    male/female, yin and yang.
    Balance of circadian rhythm
    Mixed with human elements
    Sunshine meet rain
    If we both were born and
    Grew with both of these opposite elements
    Then why had we never felt complete
    And why would we still be seeking
    Seeking not just to see
    But really know, and believe.
    That even in our own abnormality
    Somewhere it was meant to be.
    That we would find each other
    And somehow still be
    Like lovers and love is meant to be
    Giving strength to our areas more weak
    And giving the other breath, sustenance
    When they've almost given up
    And have felt themselves growing faint.
    If we both uniquely 2 in 1
    Knew that there was still
    Somewhere out there made for us,
    The one, then how come
    Now that we have found each other
    Do we cling to pride so desperately
    Pride keeps a house divided
    This love, is two, but because of our pride
    May fall and end up tearing apart
    The 2 of us, 2 as 1
    But both dueling as a whole
    Must decide to let our guard down
    And let healing bring us back to 1.
    ©gwencanfield2