This Is My Fingers’ Great Honor

 

 

image taken from http://www.sweeden.se

 

In this world of digital playgrounds, I wanted to write a post about the tactile feel of certain objects and the duty, love and envy of my fingers and hands. I first start out with an apple, then,  my guitar. I moved to other concepts trying to encircle things I touch everyday.  It is my wish that people get out of their chairs, offices, couches and get out and experience life and all its wonders. Remember, God created a vast place for you to live, explore and enjoy. So, crack open the door, take down the hoodie  and let your toes feel the grass. Read this poem with a new set of eyes; drinking in all the splendor and feasting on the riches of a lovingly created world. Here is a verse to keep you focused on His great accomplishment:

Isaiah 40:12 “Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance?”

God truly is very powerful! Rest in the creator of you, me and everything  in this world.

Enjoy and be content.

 

The Great Plains Poet

 

 

 

This Is My Fingers’ Great Honor

a poem by Chris T.

 

 

 

Red, waxy skin.

Smooth and curving from stem to bottom.

Crushes to grip with little effort

For this is what my fingers feel.

 

An undulating body

Full of stained wood and strings.

Shining with frets and tuning pegs

For this is what my fingers’ need.

 

The prick of  a lancet’s sting

Deep and penetrating

Cold, with no feeling or mercy.

For this is what my fingers’ endure.

 

The lustrous sheen of  my lady’s skin

Like the gliding caress across  polished marble

An art like form reminiscent of a Botticelli

For this is what my fingers’ crave

 

A rigid thrust of fist held high.

The tight clench of fingers balled.

An impulsive swing hits mark.

For this is my fingers’ shame.

 

Aged skin cradled with care

My respect for elders given with love

Young hand, old hand in loving clench

For this is my fingers’ duty.

 

A life given to me

Fatherhood embraced with clumsy, nurturing mits

Hugs given; at any time, any hour, without judge or expectation

For this is my fingers’ great honor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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