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The hands on me, I see color of a light skin man, who has a face that has tears coming down my eyes. Who has a face with a bright smile, beautiful grin, through my soul I shine. I walk on this earth moving my feet, moving my arms, moving my legs. From one time I crawled, Now I stand tall in this world of adversity I see.
The hands on me I see, Wisdom and Art the world is my canvas. The earth is my playground for my hands as tears are coming down my eyes from all the lies upon my face. Yet a hand is colorful full of rhythm different shades, a pattern of lines you had since birth. Your hands never change as they just grow more beautiful each year. Hands only get better with age they have seen and have been through a lot of things, no matter how rough the task has been. Your hands survive through thick and thin. Hands are also a symbol of expression, you can ball them up, make a fist, and teach someone a lesson, or it can also show that you are a great thinker, or a romantic lover not full of aggression.
Your hands are great, nothing is impossible no matter how young or old hands are always the next generations gift. We should always uphold, we should all unite or hands high, and celebrate for the hands we all have are great because there the hands of fate.
