kind hands cup ample *******
like they are gifts,
bestowed upon Man like the dirt of the earth
bestows such beauty, petals and all.

grieving hands prey upon brittle bones
and half-minds, pull apart those
pretty daisies nestled in a war of golden
hair.

beautiful hands stroke magic upon the
air like scars...heal the broken with black
honey and the gold in the break of dawn.

foolish hands know not their limits and thus
they run, like stunned deer upon a road which leads
all but nowhere and everywhere upon the hour,
they cease and recount their limits once more.

invisible hands, alas, all-knowing and soft,
corrupt the mind with the utmost fear.
for one cannot see for proof but can feel
for days on end,
without cease,
the sorrow of which these hands
have dealt.