They must be huge,
the hands that hold the world.
Hands that set planets spinning like gyroscopes,
and threw stars so hard
they stayed where they were put.
They must be strong hands,
to hang on nails,
and still support
the weight of humankind,
without dropping a single soul.
They must be huge, strong hands,
where the bruised reed of my life
lies like a baby,
curled into the nail marks,
Knowing it won’t be broken.
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