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April 1, 2011
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These hands,

Worn out from the long years of before.

I find it

Harder to breathe sometimes, I suppose.

But today, for some reason,

I lay here

In my old, musty bed,

Gasping for whatever air I can find.

This mind

That was once fresh and young

Is on the verge of total insanity

And slowly, just slowly

Taking away what I thought I loved.

That mind

Made these hands

Worn.

These hands, now thin with age

Has made scratches throughout the decades.

With these hands

I have hurt

The ones I should've loved.

And with these hands

I pray with.

The same hands that I hurt with, I pray.

Please, take my already resting soul.

It is prepared to go.

I am sorry for all the hurt I have caused.

I just

Want

To

Go.

These hands then clench my chest.

My last bit of air, I suppose.

These bloodshot eyes

Slowly come to a close.

These hands then free themselves from their

Self confinement.

I can finally rest

These

Old

Hands.
This, I hope, shouldn't be at all depressing! It's to show a coming f age, I suppose, or a sense of guilt? I don't know, but I hope it isn't sad! It's a poem about one of those reflection stories!
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:iconturnip-slop:
TURNIP-SLOP Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2011  Hobbyist Photographer
nice, your getting a +watch for this :) *i think you want 'i lay here' (not hear)
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:iconhyperfroggy46:
HyperFroggy46 Featured By Owner Apr 9, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Oh thank you! And I'll correct it right away! (me and my mind mixes words up all the time...)
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:icondantespoet:
dantespoet Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2011  Student Writer
These Old Hands. I like it :)
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:iconhyperfroggy46:
HyperFroggy46 Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks!
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