Hands
Her hands are knotted and twisted now
after many years have passed.
Broken skin and useless joints
no sign of beauty left.
These hands were so beautiful,
these hands that made music.
Soft and lovely melodies,
these loving hands produced,
that touched the lives of many,
changed lives with every note.
They tightly clasped the things she loved
and could not let go.
The hands of another,
they symbol of love she'd received.
What beautiful hands that caressed the
soft skin of a newborn child
beautiful hands torn by life.
The world rips at them
doing nothing but destroy.
The world makes them crippled,
takes the music she enjoyed.
Her hands are left bent
as trees in the forest.
Worn from weather and time.
Her hands that once brought such joy
are withered and rough and torn.
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