Hands: Not just Tools

When I reflect on the power of my hands

I see not purpose but utmost pride

And admit with clarity where they subside

Palm with digits, vessels in strands

Observe, I can mend the driest of lands!

Fertilizing the soil with an eager stride

I labor, I labor, sweat pours down my side

And after I did sculpt glass from these sands

My hands, my hands, they are still intact

Awaiting in silence for more inevitable tasks

Which are besot through my vigorous plight

That I cannot create, I can only subtract

Pieces from others, whiskey from flasks

And I am dwarfed by these limits in sight

 

 

Reviews

[saunved]

Truly...you justified the power of the hands...and I loved the lines:
"Which are besot through my vigorous plight
That I cannot create, I can only subtract"...
Nice poem

[Nick Patrick]

Thank you! I'm glad you like it!