in the palm of my hand are the markings
of a human variety, inscribed with the tales
of my existence and stubborn will to live
hidden by the fascinating, renewing nature of flesh
uniquely carved with a single identity
composed by the musical notes of a rich history
birthed from generations, mysterious ancestry
most stories worth hearing lay hidden in the grave
with only faint ghost whispers haunting out the truth
the palms of my hands play in the dirt
appreciating the warm, soft abundance of the earth
encompassing within themselves the power to rule
yet satisfied with a simple purpose, outlive yesterday
The palm of my hands holds promises and miracles, and I pray
For the supernatural ability to reach out and somehow
Touch the world

Photo provided by: unsplash-logoAustin Ban