Hands

Hands. The feel to all things. To touch or not to touch. Handling ever so much. Hands. Over river and lands. Caress or careless. Unraveling the beauty within, or concealing it with sin. Hands. Extended out as it demands. Or extending with generosity as it expands. A tool to free-will. Will they plant trees, or will they kill? Hands. Gentle touches or greedy snatches. Creation like daisies floating on water. Or deviation like the riots in play. Hands. The suit that frames the deliverance of actions. Hands. The wings that spread out the light. Writing the journey with its fingerprints, submitting all judgements to they’re Creator. Hands. The poet of the body, the extension to heart and mind. The thinker, the feeler. Hands. The generator of electrical chemistry, the carpenter to oxytocin. The nurture to nature. Hands. It’s love watching over the shoulders of I and You. arms of abundance infinitely extended as the palms of peace rest gracefully on the laps of the Uni-verse. Hands.