Questions About Hands And Fingers

And there inside all of it
The troubles
The pain
The sorrow
I search and find a certain beauty in my tears
I feel the whole of what I caused to wallow

And I taste the blood of my betrayals that lay their grip upon your heart.
I see the callous hands I have laid upon the neck of our forever, and I cringe at the nature of it

Here i sit inside a field of barren stalk
Flowers softly fallen
And I dream of my repentance
I soften my hands
and release my grip
And stare at my wretched fingers

Wondering why my fingers and hands are but words and misunderstandings
Gloved by fear and insecurity?

All the peace.
All the Caring
The kindness.
These things that lie inside of me.
The things I want to give away to you.
Like beautiful flowers...
Why do they sink below the waves of my own confusion?
Wherein is the resilience of my love if not shown within the sunshine of my growth?
What becomes of he that has hands and fingers and know naught how to hold hearts gently?

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