Although noone has ever seen your hands,
i know what they look like.
i know what they do.
your hands created everything,
sometimes everything comes back at you
to hurt you and yet you embrace it.
strong fingers like the pillars
that hold up the whole earth
covered with skin, marked with scars
old hands that have loved much,
loved by takeing away
takeing away failure and pain
redeeming hands that lay on my sholders like fatherhood
fatherhood that was there to chatch me
when my pride caused me to fall
and hands that lift me
so I can stroke my dreams with my fingertips
and hands that gently lift up my chin
so I can look the one in the face
the one who reasures me that my hands are able
and my heart is healed enough to take a hold of eternity.