The hands, a person's story.
Living in the flesh.
Its story, told
In every scar and crevice.
It can speak volumes
Of how they worked.
Lived out their days on earth
Was it hard physical labor?
Or a career, more soft?
Well if the eyes are
The windows to the soul.
The story of a person's hands
Are what makes the story whole.
It shows that soul,
That inner life.
Walked out among others
Through sweat, blood, and flesh.
I wonder what my hands say
What they might tell you.
Will it speak of all
The inner worries, anxieties
With nails all bit out
And do they speak of my early despair?
And that that same fear
Still follows me here.
Will my nails
Like a tree trunk
With its nutritious swirls
Speak of the fight
Not of my own making
But the one forced on me from birth.
The fight to constantly battle
And worry with fear and shame
About my looks and heavy weight
Never meant for my once
Pretty, athletic frame.
Your hands, they speak volumes
To me, who am patient to see,
I hear them whisper softly
Of loneliness, anger and rage.
But also there's a timid gentleness,
That softens amongst the lines
Scribed deep into your hardened hands
Hands rough on the surface
Stoic and proud of all their accomplishments
The hard days journey to night
Muscular but still agile.
Not too beefy,or ever losing sight
Of the purpose of the hands in life.
Which is to touch, affection shown
The physical inspiration
Of the spiritually felt love
Love seen through the
Eyes soulful window
And demonstrated in the here and natural.
With the tough of the hard
Some people say it all
Their hands pale, clammy, and cold.
Just like their stone cold hearts
Others rough, but fat with gluttony
Serving only themselves.
But together our hands
They tell even more
As we walk along
With them clasped in
Each other's arms
Or when viewed in our moments
Of intimacy, with that sweet, soft
Touch that together we’d found
You, my man, and i, Your hopeful lady
Yet our hands the same size and form,
for those to look at, mirror images be
And yet same size but far different when
Viewed in comparing personality.
This shows further reason
For our close compatibility
You're strong and hard but
With tender inner softness
Mine weaker, normally soft
But weathered in look
And from great sorrow born.
So each, holding and displaying
The teeter totter within
Our own solitary being
We balance ourselves quite
Nicely with that humanly
Character misappropriation
So then, why do we still go and seek out?
With that balance
Already born within us?
Why had we bother still
Been looking, hopeful, and seeking out
Both somehow knowing that dichotomous strength
Within the weakness shown outward.
The weakness was usually not normal
It was written within one soul
Because fire born near water
Soon fades and washes out.
These two important elements
Hot and cold, strength softened somehow
By something good
The physical metereed with the soul
Were usually not as one
Although always meant to be that way
These opposites searched for each other
Year after year, opposites attract, seak
The other one out
male/female, yin and yang.
Balance of circadian rhythm
Mixed with human elements
Sunshine meet rain
If we both were born and
Grew with both of these opposite elements
Then why had we never felt complete
And why would we still be seeking
Seeking not just to see
But really know, and believe.
That even in our own abnormality
Somewhere it was meant to be.
That we would find each other
And somehow still be
Like lovers and love is meant to be
Giving strength to our areas more weak
And giving the other breath, sustenance
When they've almost given up
And have felt themselves growing faint.
If we both uniquely 2 in 1
Knew that there was still
Somewhere out there made for us,
The one, then how come
Now that we have found each other
Do we cling to pride so desperately
Pride keeps a house divided
This love, is two, but because of our pride
May fall and end up tearing apart
The 2 of us, 2 as 1
But both dueling as a whole
Must decide to let our guard down
And let healing bring us back to 1.


© Gwen Canfield The Finishers Touch Poetry