My Hands Speak to Me

Gazing at your palms what do you see?

old hands and young hands holding a red rose
Photo by Jake Thacker on Unsplash

Time’s passing leaves crevices that echo
shattered trails like dry river beds
memories drifting in ash
of kindled hopes now gone.
Servants forever humbled and bent,
dutiful in youth,
angered in gnarled age.



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Kevin Farran

Kevin Farran


Kamakura based writer, lover of Great Danes, vintage cars, good red wine, bonsai and the Bard