The Golden Hand (3-11-04)

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Scraping slowly across the ground,
His rusted chains always follow,
Under his worned dark tunic,
With a hood hiding his suffering.

Fatigued from his life’s mission,
His body was slumped over,
His breath was heavy upon his heart,
And his face stared downward.

Underneath the black hood’s shadow
Laid ears deafened by all the screams,
Eyes scarred from what they have seen,
But a mind whose brilliance lightly shone.

As his feet are dragging warily,
A little girl sits in front of him,
Weeping all her sorrows down her cheek,
And disappearing on her black dress.

His hand raised from below his garb,
And revealed his purpose, his life,
In the form of a golden touch,
Which he placed on the girl’s shoulder.

His veins grew from his hands to his chest,
And from his chest to his head.
His face turned pale and his eyes red
As he slowly absorbed the pain.

He felt it burn inside of her.
He felt it burn inside of him.
And even though he falls to a knee,
He continues, just for her, a stranger.

Once he was done, he ached all over.
His hand fell back into the darkness
To regain the light it lent out,
To the search of lost hope.

And as she looked up to him,
A tear lands upon her head.
She shines a smile as she stands up,
And runs away in a flowing white dress.

He watched her run away to the horizon,
Then returned to a tenebrous path of remedy,
To help the blinded see, the hurt heal,
With his gift of the golden hand.

Copyright ©2004 Danny Caballero

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