Hands

The child lies in the middle
Of an open road
Empty hands lie limp
Shirt torn
Skin smeared with the dirt
Of a man less fortunate

This child is waiting
The world
Playing a game of uneven
give and take
he doesn’t know what fairness feels like

Then as the light drifts through
The clean clouds
That hover in the dreary sky

A hand reaches out
For hope
For Dreams
For the child

the child rises
an angel touched smile
graces his face
he is happy

We know this child
We know this hand
Who are we?
Where are our hands