What are my arms?
But floppy dead things that hang at the sides of my body
And beat against my chest when i run?
Do they fold and bend and caress the compartments of my mind?
And build shelters for my hopes and dreams the live behind my eyelids?
What use are they to the dead man they lay on the side of the road,
But to hold up the ***** crushed cup that he uses to beg for a days meal?
Can they save him?
Or just point to show that my heart notices his cry for help
Or hope
Or just a few cents
Are they just the blankets that I wrap around myself when I shiver of shake and questions?
Or answers
Or just the sharpened coldness that bite at my legs?
What are my arms?
Show me how to use them
All you folks who have achieved
And bled
and blistered of a hard day's work
Make them your students
Even just to teach them that they can lift up and be pillars for my hands