MOTHER'S HAND

Your hand it strokes your brow,

as pain and nausea reign,

distort your visions and perceptions, strain

the limits of your patient brain,

this gesture now reminds you of your mother, kind,

her soothing sweet caress,

when you were in distress and needed help,

to feel yourself again in trust.

Your hand goes through your hair,

parting sections softly falling,

calm possesses all your thoughts and will.

Is mother nearby still?

Come mother if you will, I need you now

your spirit's welcome always anyhow.

Within the fingers of our hands are nerves,

so sensitive to every tiny touch,

their flash of understanding goes so fast,

emotions soon react to send the message up,

to the great sieve of wisdom, knowledge

gleaned as we live,

there processed instantly to tell us what to feel.

Those fingers of the hand can be expressive,

can even cause a blow and be aggressive,

their grip can strangle, stop the blood in flow,

their dance seduce a man to change his path,

their point reduce one's confidence,

be dashed to shame, their shove

can cause a fall, their clap applaud, 

as fingers play their magic chords, create so much.

They are our hidden thoughts expressed,

our minds that give them life,

they mean so much without them, we are lost,

but most of all we need them when we wish for solace, suffering,

put together they pray for yet another day,

another way to sway the trials and strife.