Eager hands reach out,
brush the starlight
with the tips on their fingers.
They are young,
these hands,
and have only just begun to experience the world.

They have touched slick grass,
plush carpet,
the grimy windows of a city bus.
In their time, these hands
will touch many things.

They will touch beautiful, extraordinary things
just as they will touch evil, corrupt things.
They will touch smiles and they will touch tears.
They will grasp at vanishing smoke,
sink into gooey dough,
and scrape against unforgiving asphalt.

These hands will be taught to love.
They will be taught to learn, to laugh,
to carry, and to mend.
They will be taught to break, to hurt,
to insult and to ****.

And one day
someone will take a grisly, rotting rope
and try to bind them
when they see what I can do.
When they realize where
these hands can take me.

I swear to fight for them
And break the knot
because no matter what I use them for,
they are mine and mine alone.

I know that they can start wars
or smother conflict.
I know that they can find beauty
and turn it into art,
or find struggle and turn it into hate.

These hands are infinite
in their power
and I will never get another set
so whatever I choose to do with them
I hope that it will be
big.
I hope that they will change something
and I hope that they
will do it well.

Eager hands reach out,
Close around the wisps of dreams
With worried fists.
They are old,
These hands,
And have already begun to shape the world.