A poem about finding the calm within oneself regardless of the weather swirling around you.
Tag Archives: poemsonaging
These hands with veins like aged snakes and wrinkles gray are getting old But once these hands were small and smooth and held a father’s hand. These hands have blocked the blows of man and faith that tried to confine. But the vastness in these hands cannot be caged. These hands have let go untilContinue reading “These Hands”