Hands

This is a repost from my old Myspace blog in 2009.

He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things


Held beetles and frogs in his youth
and made snow forts in the trees


Hands that flew to his face in oft-learned reflex
to protect him from his father's rages
and wiped tears from his eyes in the aftermath


Hands that yearned for a comforting touch
but instead learned comfort at the plunge of a needle
with blood on his hands, robbing and cheating others
to feed the demon


Shaking, clammy hands when the needle betrayed him
and taught him the meaning of mortality
and humility


Hands holding on for dear life
as his world crashed and changed around him
forcing him kicking and screaming into living


Fingers that came alive in an unexpected way
once a keyboard was under them
and his mind was free to express itself
without repurcussion


Hands that still shake sometimes,
longing to hold that needle and
feel the plunge


Hands that search to do something meaningful
to keep those old demons at bay
and give his life purpose


He looked down at his hands
hands that had done so many things


And wondered what they were
going to do next