Tue, 11/12/2019 - 15:57 -- ansongm




Those wrinkled hands, the fine details that used to show in the lines of his age old palms have now been taken over by the paralysis

Those hands that beckoned a child away from a snake are the same ones that made shadows to my delight

That was then because now those hands just lay limp on his lap, still and unmoving, just like the trees of the woods surrounding us

Already knowing the answer, I ask,  “Grandpa, don’t you ever wish they’d move, even the slightest?

He gazes up from his rocking chair, ”These trees, of course not. I enjoy the peace that comes along with the quiet.”

This saddens me but also inspires me

Because the voice that misunderstood me is the same one that encouraged me

Even when it had no business doing so

Because those wrinkled hands are the same ones that wiped my wet eyes

No matter how dirty or fake the tears

Because just because you’re immobile yourself doesn’t mean you can’t move others

Years later I was still moving through the rigors of a young life

So my Grandfather’s heart continues to beat in my chest

You become who inspires you

And you inspire when you you become who inspires you

That inspires me



This poem is about: 
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 


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