Aging Hands by Mark Tulin
Photo by João Jesus on Pexels.com
I took a road trip
along the lines
of my palms,
gray and worn,
hands of experience,
wonderful rivers,
dark valleys,
and mountains
still to climb
They are blue collar hands,
life’s struggle encrypted
A past of suffering,
nicotine-stained
with worry,
Rodin-sculptured,
tarnished with loses,
and prideful mistakes
Hands once strong,
formed of white marble,
able to carry heavy burdens,
dig deep with shovels,
now weakened and knotty,
unable to grip and bend
Hands don’t lie,
they are nature’s remnants
that grow like roots of a tree
Mellowed through the years,
my hands no longer let anger
conquer love,
not afraid to reach for help
in dealing with life’s uncertainty.
Read more of Mark Tulin's work at www.crowonthewire.com
along the lines
of my palms,
gray and worn,
hands of experience,
wonderful rivers,
dark valleys,
and mountains
still to climb
They are blue collar hands,
life’s struggle encrypted
A past of suffering,
nicotine-stained
with worry,
Rodin-sculptured,
tarnished with loses,
and prideful mistakes
Hands once strong,
formed of white marble,
able to carry heavy burdens,
dig deep with shovels,
now weakened and knotty,
unable to grip and bend
Hands don’t lie,
they are nature’s remnants
that grow like roots of a tree
Mellowed through the years,
my hands no longer let anger
conquer love,
not afraid to reach for help
in dealing with life’s uncertainty.
Read more of Mark Tulin's work at www.crowonthewire.com