Hands On

A poem about our greatest weapon

Photo by 🇨🇭 Claudio Schwarz | @purzlbaum on Unsplash

Arms fall to fingers,
Like rain to the ground.
Connected but distant,
And abstractly bound.

Veins running through them,
From elbow to nail.
Over tools and technology,
It’s them who’ll prevail.

Hands like a deity,
Elegant and gold.
Crafting worlds and their stories,
Are gracefully told.

We take them for granted,
Their duties unplanned.
Forged from the starbursts,
Sat there in our hand.