The Hands

The Hands

On the strength of who I thought I’m not
And the weakness of who I think I am
I approached the climb rocky and steep

Though the day is bright and refreshed
The trail ascends to the clouds

It’s a track laid by other feet
Some of whom left sign posts
For those who come behind

But most just treat their way
Pausing at the bottom weighing what’s required

Much to rugged for a solo climb
When the sun dips below the peak

My valley becomes shaded and chill
A wolf’s howl echoes calling her pack
Such a lonely plaintive call

And I long for the replies she receives
I hear them coming together

While I return to my cave
I’ve stood before the climb innumerable times
And tried the trail from desperate need

Only to shun outstretched hands
If it’s not to be done myself

There’s nothing to be done
But deep in the recesses of my cave
A different story is told

Painted in primitive colors
The message could not be more clear

Amongst all the sacred animal images
Both the hunters and the prey
There are hands interspersed reaching

A spirit an animus calls them together
Which is yet beyond my ken

The torch of my understanding
Sheds only a limited light obscured
By the soot of misapprehension

So the climb yet awaits me
And the hands that I would grasp

Reviews

[Mercy Fae]

Your writing is great. This poem conveys much imagery, which sets the scene for readers.

[abluehorseandflowers]

thank you Hikari for your kind comment. If I may, what scene does it set for you?

[Mercy Fae]

It seems like it's about someone overcoming a major obstacle in their life, and then preparing for future obstacles that they may face.

[abluehorseandflowers]

Well, that pretty well describes what it means to me :)