A poem about hands? Okay then, here we go!
The hands tuck into my back pocket
Like a note from a childhood friend that has
Become worn and weathered.
Today, the hands hunger for more.
They scratch at my back and
Dig deep into the contents of my skull.
My energy drains from a well that
Has seen higher levels in days past.
The hands surround me always,
Sometimes a friend, sometimes an
Oversized weight that I never asked to lift.
These are the hands of time,
These are the hands that always demand more.
©2014 Christy Birmingham
This is christyb, taking time to consider the way time moves.
Want to read more about hands? Here is another poem I wrote, titled Fingers Curve.