There was a hand in the darkness once That reached out and held my hand - That was a hand of caring.
There was a hand at the playground gates Took me by the hand the first day - That was a hand of sharing.
A Father's hand I never knew A Mother's hand I lost too soon Of Lovers' hands there have been many My Brother's? Everytime & always ready.
There was a hand pushed my hand away Then pushed again and kept on pushing - That was a hand of warring.
A time of loneliness when no hand came When my hands held themselves and When my hands learned about mourning.
My Children's hands reassuring me My close Friends' hands knowing All this More tenuous Friends not getting me yet Colleague's hands getting the fist bump flip.
A lifetime of hands coming and going A poetry of hands speaking more than words That death and all of life is but a hand away.
Giving hands, hands taking, years of hands Speaking incessantly good and bad And I have listened to all they had to say.
When I give my word I offer my hands When I greet a friend, when I take my leave Equally I see myriad hands upon the page Time flowing from this Poet's hand displayed.
There was a child holding a pen once That needed a family to write about - That was a hand of shaking.
There were two fists raised to the world That was a young man out of control - That was the poetry of me in the making.
Some people are Face & Eye watchers, some are hand watchers - For me, the hands never lie. Watch any person's hands... it's all there. When I was a Customs Officer it was one of the secret tools of my craft of a quick assessment of a stranger. From their grooming to how their hands move can be seen so many things.