With These Hands

With These Hands

With these hands, I lived my life,

crafting poetry—

no recognition till you’re dead.

With these hands, I wiped away my tears,

blistered regrets from through my years.

With these hands, I wiped your brow;

life wasn’t grand, yet we made it somehow.

With these hands, I built and broke,

held on tight when I nearly choked.

With these hands, I mended scars,

reached for dreams that felt too far.

With these hands, I loved and fought,

carved a life from all I sought.

With these hands, I’ll write once more,

leave my mark and close the door.