Digging through my desk this month, I found several old short stories and old school assignments. To my surprise, two of them were poems. I don’t write poetry normally. Unless I’m writing a song. So, what better way to honor it than to share something I was forced to write for a grade in Creative Writing class; the first semester of my senior.

This poem was a free verse. Personally, my favorite because I hate rules.

Title – Hands, Hands

Hands, Hands, used in moments of battle,

Hands, Hands, used between two lovers,

Used in every situation, every time different,

As a baby grabs his mothers shoulder,

And an old man gets up and grabs his walking stick,

Your hands change size throughout your life,

Like a snowball changing size as its thrown towards someone else,

And you wish you took time to appreciate them,

But instead you took your hands for granted,

Up to the day you broke one of them, then you decided,

Your hands are apart of you; they will be there with you in every situation,

In times of happiness and despair,

A booked heart, a lost day, a failed attempt or a lost love–your hands still back you up,

A new beginning, a new love; success at its finest–your hands are there to back you,

Hands, Hands, helpers from the very start–your true best friends,

It speaks to you in ways you will never understand,

Thank God for hands.