• kairos_ 10w

    The hand in the air
    waiting to slap as one
    each finger with a role
    rarely worked in anger as a whole.

    The thumb would rise
    to praise and appreciate
    turning over on its head
    wanting to give bad luck and hate.

    Index being number one points out
    singly or in a huge crowd
    playing a trumpet of its opinions
    quietly raising in a voice loud.

    The middle finger,
    a snake devoid of venom
    still striking fiercely, that
    doesn't hurt much or make you go numb.

    The finger that comes next
    grips the ring tight
    outgrowing it sometimes
    like a couple's love after a fight.

    The little finger in awe,
    tagged behind the larger siblings,
    a baby making small promises
    and breaking even smaller friendships.

    Holding on and then losing out
    each finger blamed the sweaty palms
    yet worked in tandem
    when in need, begging for alms.

    - T.S.

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    "Nails on the finger,
    my other hand
    struck them with a hammer."