These Hands

These Hands

Every touch is a story. Every gesture, a prayer.

These hands have known the language of earth and fire, of sorrow and renewal. They remember what the mind forgets — that every act of care, every tremble of devotion, leaves a trace in the fabric of creation. In their holding and their letting go, they reveal what endures when all else falls away: love made visible.

These Hands

by Lorriiii Dragon Dream

These hands — have pressed into the earth, stitched torn seams in silence, stirred soup with prayer, braided hair with tenderness, and fastened buttons in the dark when no one was watching.

They have reached across absence, into the soft ache of sorrow, where nothing could be fixed, only held. They have wiped tears from faces both known and forgotten, and cupped water to cleanse, to bless, to remember.

They have trembled — with grief, with fear, with awe — and still they reached for what could not be left behind. They held on until it was too heavy, until they had the strength to let go.

These hands — have not always been gentle. They’ve clenched in anger, crossed themselves in refusal, closed to the world — but even then, they remembered their work. And slowly, they opened again.

These hands — show the map of where I’ve been: lines etched by weather, by witness, by devotion. Not worn out — but worn in, like something beloved.

These hands — are not just hands. They are altars. They are story. They are the threshold where spirit becomes gesture, where what is felt becomes what is given.

© 2025 Lorriiii Dragon Dream | SpiritDrumming.com
Words and images are living offerings — please share with credit and care.

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✧ Read another poem → The Offering