Hands

Grasping at walls, grasping at doors

An innocent creature, an unruly force

Covered in sand it deteriorates 

Washed away, it stays 

Open, it waits for a companion 

Slowly losing its grip as reality slips out of reach 

What is a hand but a mind all dressed up? 

With rage it strikes, a mistake that leaves relationships messed up 

Wiping tears in fear that nothing will be the same 

Hiding the face that was once shadowed in the shining sun 

That same face that is now shrouded by guilt and sin

A hand, at once a small innocent thing 

A hand that morphs into a devil 

A hand that delivers a malicious sting 

With reason it tries to mend its damage 

Frustration brings tears and guilt and carnage 

Its grip loosens and loosens 

It waves goodbye before turning a translucent white