Helping Hands

The world is ours to hold, in our hands

When we don’t give into the mind’s demands

And its needs, getting and keeping

Returning nothing, it becomes blatant stealing

The hands are made for giving

And to work for an honest living

While working, hands may meet to pray

Shunning effort, it’s only a pompous display

We arrive clutching emptiness

With delicate fingers capable of great finesse

When calloused by arrogant and crude misuse

Hands cannot escape the mind’s abuse

By leaving our hands empty and open

The mind will learn to bend and soften

Hands can then dip into the heart

And return to becoming a worthy counterpart