Thursday, May 13, 2010

Poem: Take My Hand

 Take My Hand

We might extend our hands to pull someone to safety,
or aggressively shove them into harm’s way.

The very hands that offer a warm embrace,
might push away in times of anger or fear.

When you shake a hand, you greet someone as a friend.
When you make a fist, you defiantly oppose them.

The same hands that offer a deep massage,
and gently wash a child’s back.
can create a sculpture of exquisite beauty,
a painting with depths of mystery,
or write words that burn with hate.

They can pick a bouquet, plant a seed,
row a boat, or climb a tree;
they can save a life, take a life,
or leave behind a life well-lived.

Our hands are an extension
of our soul;
they act out our thoughts
and move at our command.

Take my hand
Let’s walk awhile and talk of the hands we’ve been dealt.


  1. I really have no words since this is so deeply expressive that it can't be easily summed up or talked about, from my brain. It's wonderful, is all I can say.

  2. This is a wonderful poem-- I particularly like the switch at the end when you mention "the hands we've been dealt"-- a completely different meaning of hands than the rest of the poem. It is surprising and thought-provoking.

  3. Thanks, Brynn. I had two thoughts at the end. I initially was thinking about using the 'hands of time' but then thought of the 'hands we've been dealt' and liked how it fit with the rest of the poem.

  4. I like this one a lot, too. Thank you!