The Hands

It's interesting the smallest of things we take for granted. Once we've lost it, only then we know just how valuable what we've lost is.

The hands that build up
Are the same hands that tear down
They are the same hands that can bring peace
And it doesn't matter if they are white, black, red, yellow, or brown.

The hands that caress
Are the same hands that can deliver a slap
These same hands that can be gentle
  Can also in strong approval clap.

The hands that express love
Can also express hate
They deliver life into this world
And can also choose your fate.

For the world as we know it today
Is the fruit of callous, laborious hands
Without them progress would stand still
And there'd be no way to meet demands.

Demands that secure our survival
Like growing food and pitching water
We wouldn't be able to feed ourselves, or our kids
We wouldn't be able to bring in animals for the slaughter.

The hands that built Rome
The hands that built Greece
Left their blueprints for future architects
So that human progress will never cease.

By them we determine a person’s value
Their callouses show respectful years of labor
The hands that open doors
Also protect from imminent danger.

For like a potter molds his clay
Working hard on making something
Without our hands we wouldn't exist
Without them we're really.............nothing.