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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


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




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



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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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)
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...)
dantespoet Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2011  Student Writer
These Old Hands. I like it :)
HyperFroggy46 Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2011  Hobbyist Writer
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Submitted on
April 1, 2011
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