Hands are delicate things;
no matter how small
or large,
no matter how old
or young.
Hands can talk, help,
hands can make us feel;
touch.

Hands can take
and some can kill.
But most hands;
they reach to caress
and grab to pull
to save.

Your hands
belong to you
but, somehow; I feel they�€™re mine
because, when your hands
touch my skin
that�€™s when hands
bring life.

She Bathed me

I remember as a child,
I loved when she would bathe
Me with soapy bubbles
Caressing, frothy, waves
Her smoothe and gentle touches
Her soft voice, just to me,
Calmed my little aching heart,
A gift from only she.
I watched her bake the biscuits,
Mix the dough by hand.
Clump it all together,
Carefully she planned.
She was always ready,
To tell me what was good,
She taught me how to use my hands,
By watching as I stood,
Right beside her proudly.
She gave me pretty hands,
Capable of loving,
A child and reaching in,
To stroke a heart in love,
To gift a special man,
To love completely, unafraid,
A gift, one only can,
Live with hands and heart,
Connected, wound around.
Wrapped and held,
Hand in hand,
In love, the clapping sound.

Raine Les 5/31/2008
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You bring out such beautiful thoughts..

That is so beautiful! Your writing is so soothing and peaceful, I love it.

Sharris
have you given your writing its own page it should have one