These Hands of Mine

These hands of mine

Have collected the tears succeeding a painful tease

Fallen victim to a panic-induced squeeze Enfolded my weary, bruised knees.

But still continue to dance by my soul with ease.


These eyes of mine

Have witnessed the epitome of disaster,

Searched desperately for an unreachable answer,

Still close tearfully when I pray to my Master,

But still capture my every smile’s burst (my laughter)…


This mind of mine

Has thought of every unendurable situation

Suffered every conceivable personal abdication

Failed me on many a humiliating occasion

But still manage to escort me in this worldly navigation


Perhaps the man behind the curtain is the terror coiled beneath our bones;

Perhaps it’s the vacillation that ripens with the innumerable sticks and stones.

But maybe the man behind the curtain is precisely where he needs to be;

Beneath the canopy of our smiles, self-respect, and dignity.


Our fears are tangible; the man behind the curtain is real.

But the masks we wear transform us by providing means to deal.


And the character of the play that knows this,

Knows it for a reason.

Because they’re not only aware of this ominous man,

But knows that he can be beaten.



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