These Hands

These Hands

These hands have held babies

They’ve changed their diapers too.

They've bounced an infant up and down

They’ve rocked a child and heard them coo.

These hands have led small children in song.

They’ve played, and scolded, and expressed.

They’ve guided as a child lead on,

They’ve comforted and wiped tears away.

These hands have held young children

They’ve helped color, and praised a child’s effort.

They’ve lifted a young girl under her arms

As she leaps into her daddy’s embrace.

These hands have touched ivory keys.

They’ve produced music - sometimes beautiful, and sometimes not.

They’ve pounded out frustration.

They’ve played out sadness, loneliness, and joy.

These hands have held hands dying.

They’ve embraced a daughter in tears.

They’ve held the hand of someone lost, in the years Dementia stole from them.

They’ve measured the fading heart beat of life’s cruel cost.

These hands have helped to heal.

They’ve served, and encouraged too.

They’ve hugged a broken heart.

They’ve held a hurting soul.

These hands have burn marks on them.

From working with hot grease.

They’ve heard cursing, degrading and yelling too.

They’ve felt the sting of pain.

These hands have carried trays of food

And held each other patiently

As the owner of these hands

Got verbally beaten down.

These hands have scars on them from multiple run in with blades and machines.

They’ve defended, and avenged, and stood between.

They’ve carried mental agony by digging at each other.

They’ve clenched and unclenched slowly.

These hands have done something horrible.

They’ve taken a life today.

They’ve taken a life of a woman beat down.

They’ve killed her body not mind.

Her mind was long dead now.

Her mind was beat down long ago.

Her serving heart unappreciated.

Her hands now pale, and still.