These Hands that Write

What once began as a thought

flourished as the words were wrought

like cascading raindrops

falling from a single spot

 

The words my hand created

told a story that was dictated

by the use of these hands

that helped to forge my homelands

 

The colors began to bleed from my fingers

reds, blues, yellows, whites, and blacks chose to linger

 

Composing the bright blue seas

sunrises and sunsets of magnificent magnitude

that filled the sky with endless rainbows of color

and promises of new tomorrows

 

The words my hands shape 

cause them to shake 

as power flows through each word

and my story is told.

This poem is about: 
Me

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