Hands

Touch your left hand with your right,
and feel.
Feel the rough skin.
Feel life's lumps and bumps.
Feel the warmth,
and feel the history.

Feel the hand touched your mother's womb,
held on to your mother's breast as you first fed.
Held on to her for security,
held onto her for love,
and clung on as you took your first steps.

Feel the hand that touched the hands of loved ones,
unwrapped Christmas presents,
and passed sweets to your lips for your mouth to enjoy!
These hands painted and created,
destroyed and discovered,
fought and defended.
They helped you grow,
and learn,
and through education helped shaped you.

You took these hands out into the world as 'real life' began.
'The university of hard knocks',
discovering who you were,
what you stood for,
what you did and didn't like,
who you loved and who you didn't.
These hands held the hand of someone special.

Now these hands have grown old.
Their skin has grown loose,
their fingers are callused.
A groove where a ring sits,
the occasional ache.
Life's scars bare witness,
to the fun,
and stupidity.
They were there when you fell,
reaching out to protect you,
and they're still here,
with you,
today

Hands

The time was right and I held your hand and the future changed in that moment.
Neither of us knew just how,
we neither realised nor cared what this action meant.

What was in the past was in the past.
Soft as rain drops,
Warm and comfortable like a much loved chair.
I held your hand and you held my future.
These hands would pin my photo to a wall,
Would save me,
Would shape and complete me.

...And at that time,
when we held hands -
we just didn't realise.