I know I would be nowhere
with no hands, no lifelines to reveal
futures, life's expressions invisible,
No incredible, articulate moments.
Essential, responsible, hands matter
Men, women, children, babies
rejoice when hands hold, caress ... and direct an orchestra,
drive cars, buses, trains; fly helicopters and planes.
Hands—a pair with eight fingers, two thumbs
to adorn with jewels to signify status,
act as an invitation; as an exit strategy.
Are diamonds really a girl's best friend?
How is it that hands are enclosed
in a protective skin,
so as to keep out evil
and let good in?
But hands can slap, punch, and kill
swear and curse, with such dramatic appeal
that 'war' is the outcome;
peace the calm after the storm.
The artist, the pianist, the writer,
the musician, the singer, the dancer,
would turn mad, bad and dangerous to know,
without their hands, they'd have no place to go.
Hands are perfect; each finger print unique,
to keep a trace; a pattern,
there is no escape,
if you've abused their powers.
(6th poem for NaPoWriMo2017; first posted as 16th poem for NaPoWriMo2013)
ⓒ Nicole Moore
Today's NaPoWriMo2017 prompt is to write a poem that looks at the same thing from various points of view.