In Our Hands

Its our Hope

the many destines of dreams

the realities of old

The conflicting footholds we hope to achieve.

Tears of rain

the river 

that hides the pain

the small feeble statue

which we build 

Our lives cast like stone

The work of Our hands

Life grown like a flower

Delicate in view

Soft in touch

The truth indeed hurts

Only the few 

It hurts as much

In our hands 

craftsmanship 

is an art

In our hands Life is but a sculpture

In Our hands life is but a song

Its in our hands, in our hands

The soft bittersweet of humanity

Nibbles at our core

 Adore the healing passion of love

With its hands that shape

It was our hands

But love has shaped us all the more.

Author's Note

Any advice is appreciated.

Reviews

[cimmy wuv xxxooo]

This poem is practically saying life is in our hands, and our life is what we make of it right?
Very different way of saying that, if that's what the meaning is.
I liked it though, very deep and meaningful, also insightful.
Keep writing :)

[Lavender Soya]

This is a well crafted poem. I love it's suave tone. Kudos!