Good Hands

These are good hands,

They're still young and strong,

They’ve got the marks,

But there from lessons long gone.

I look at these hands,

There is a future inside of them.

These are the hands of something great.

These hands will do the great.

These hands work together well.

They can grip and grab and achieve.

These hands are the hands of new money.

Hands that will strike the enemy,

And comfort the brave.

Not everyone had hands like these,

Fact is few do.

But no one is born with these hands,

The hands must be earned.

They cannot just be looked for,

But they must be fought for.

The world is a worthy foe.

A foe you must strife against.

These hands cannot win,

But they can strike and strike they will.

I once saw hands like these,

But they were not young.

They were no longer strong,

But they held the marks.

And stories they would tell.

Made from steel they were,

But the steel had rusted.

These hands could hold no more,

They would not, could not strike a soul.

And yet could fill with fear.

These Hands were rough,

Rough like rocks and soft like leather.

Roughed by battle.

Softened by love.

As you hold these hands,

Feel the wife, the child,

The brother, sister,

Mother, Father,

Feel the loss, hold their weight.

All hands lose some time,

But these hands will fight hard,

And that’s more than some can say,

These hands will try.

They will, eventually rust and soften,

But they will do many things,

Like the hands before them, they will win,

And win and win and win.

Until they can win no more.

Because that’s what good hands do,

They win and win and win and win,

Till they can win no more.