THIS IS NOT MY HAND.
My hand is sinewed and strong
My hand is calloused
It knows wrench and hammer
It knows torch burnt steel
This is not my hand.
My hand can reach for my beloved
My hand knows the joyous weight of a book.
It can write through the night without tiring
This is not my hand.
My hand can protect me
and build me
Express me
It can caress or threaten
This hand is weak
This hand curls in on itself
It is soft and smooth
It trembles and shakes
It can bear no weight
It is not mine
These legs are not my legs.
My legs are strong and muscled
They hold me upright through days long and short
These are not my legs
My legs can dance (OH SO BADLY)
and climb two steps at a time
These are not my legs
My legs do not tremble and fail
My legs do not curl
Swollen and useless beneath me
These are not my legs
This is not my soul.
My soul does not weep or cry out in pain.
It does not live in fear
My soul does not curse those who love me
My soul is not muddied by drugs
My soul is strong and filled with life
My soul is afire with love
This cold and empty thing is not my soul
This cold and empty thing is not my soul
THIS IS NOT MY SOUL.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are welcome, but are moderated. If your comment does not eventually appear, assume the moderators judge your text to be in violation of these rules .1:Civility, 2: Sound argumentation, Rule 3: Topicality.