I stared today at rough-hewn hands while lost in troubled thought.
Memories of wrongs they’ve touched and happiness they’ve fought.
Foolish choices, and choices not, were villains all the same.
My hands, it seemed, the sculptors of a gallery of pain.

Pondering these tragedies, my mind adrift and cluttered.
When suddenly a butterfly from the darkness fluttered.
And through my aching self-despair her hopeful glow transgressed.
Upon my wretched fingertip she gently came to rest.

She looked at me and turned her head, I followed with my own.
Her eyes began to smile at me with love I’d never known.
The warmth of her affection spread and overwhelmed my fear.
I saw her lips begin to move and brought her to my ear.

“These hands of yours you gaze upon are gentle, as you see.
I trust in you with all I am that they will not hurt me.
Actions taken, others’ tears are not one and the same.
The strength of caring does not have to carry with it blame.”

I whispered back “How do you know this gentleness is true?
I’ve never heard such lovely things from anyone but you.”
“Then I will stay, right here,” she said, “if you will hold me tight.
Keep me safe with loving hands and I will be your light.”

I owe to her my everything for now I understand,
How magnificence personified could love these troubled hands.
I’ve held her close, my life and back, and though I’d lost my way.
I’ve found my light, she is my love, my hope, my every day.