hands.*
each a set of
5 fingers
a personal spider web
links us to the world
the delicate curvature
effortlessly bends and twists
like a winding road
stretching on and on
hands outstretched
like an eagle in flight, soaring
helping/loving/achieving
but also;
hurting/hating/ failing
each line
drawn on our palms
so haphazardly
by its calculated artist
our perfect imperfection
such lovely flaws,
bind us to our
faithful predestination
our bodies-
a lost compass, searching
our minds-
a wanderlust dreamer, waiting
for love,
our perfect traveler
(b.d.s.)
this poem i tried out a different form than what i was used to