Hands That Could Not Rest, 1700’s

Hands That Could Not Rest, 1700’s

The morning did not break with colour, it pressed in dull and low,

Through narrow gaps in shuttered wood, where little light could go.

A man would rise before the sound of anything alive,

Not driven by a hopeful will, but simply to survive.

His back already knew the shape of labour yet to come,

The weight of days not yet begun, yet never truly done.

The ground was not a gentle thing, it gave and took the same,

It marked him slow from hand to bone, and never spoke his name.

A woman moved in steady lines, from hearth to worn-out chair,

No moment hers to simply keep, no stillness left to spare.

Her hands were lined with quiet proof of all the years gone by,

Each mark a record of a life that passed without reply.

The children watched and understood before they learned to speak,

That life was not a thing to shape, but something hard and fixed.

They followed steps already laid, with little room to stray,

For every choice was bound within the narrow line of day.

The nights were long, not filled with peace, but crowded close with thought,

Of illness moving without sound, of battles never fought.

The cold would settle deep within, not just upon the skin,

A silence pressed against the chest, and lived somewhere within.

The village held its breath at times, as if the world might break,

Yet nothing changed, the same slow turn, the same paths left to take.

No sudden rise, no lifted voice, no shift to ease the load,

Just years that moved like dragging wheels along a heavy road.

And still beneath the hardened face, beneath the quiet stare,

There lived a strength not often seen, but always waiting there.

Not shaped by pride, nor fed by praise, nor spoken out aloud,

But held within the working soul, unbroken and unbowed.

It did not ask for softer days, nor dream of distant lands,

It simply moved from hour to hour, through worn and steady hands.

A life not written down in ink, nor carved in stone to last,

Yet carried forward, breath by breath, and never fully passed.

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