Young Hands....A Poem by MyLoRaVe
Young hands bearing blood. Soiled with the dirt from a grave. A grave, holding more young hands, embalmed. Embalmed in their youthful state. Their inexperience evident through the lack of worn skin. A future not yet grasped. A trachea, robbed of it’s purpose. Young hands. Young hands bearing blood. Soiled from the dirt of a grave, blistered by the wood of a shovel. Hands bearing a burden no man should ever bear. An erased future. New generations, declined. Imagine the sound…a blade hitting the skin; breaking through the fleshy walls protecting the vitals; piercing the never before touched organ. A sound, foreign to nature. A sound, melody to the songs of mourning kin. Melody to their cries. Young hands bearing blood. Soiled with the dirt from a grave. Blistered by the wood of a shovel. Young hands, controlled by prepubescent minds. Minds, oblivious to reason, logic and apparently…sense. Young hands, misguided. No bigger hands to hold. To follow. No template to grow by. Fingers misshapen. Moulded into a position only one thing can fit. Something created for the sole purpose of stealing a life. Murder. Killing. Evil. Young hands. Young hands bearing blood. Soiled with the dirt from a grave. Blistered by the wood from a shovel. Young hands, chained. Restrained. Shamed. A name lost, and a number gained. Pictures on the news, where once in a home,framed. Bodies found in the street, bagged and named. Parents called and those bodies claimed. Tears cried, parents left but young bodies still remained, leaving parents even more pained. Feelings of hurt restrained, keeping strong for the sake of those still of age to be caned. A Sabbath comes, solace is found and peace is regained. Through familiar words in the Bible, faith is sustained. And yet still. Still young hands fail to break pattern. More shovels. More dirt. More graves. Less hands.
© 2011 MyLoRaVe |
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1 Review Added on February 18, 2011 Last Updated on February 18, 2011 Author
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