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The Carving

Upon my tattered weary heart
A carving then was placed
It was the image of a hand
In all its splendid grace

I tried to lift it slowly
So this carving would not break
So I could continue with my sorrow
And its painful throbbing ache

I tried to push it carefully
Hoping to brush it then aside
But no matter what I tried to do
I couldn't move that carving then inside

I pulled at it with anger
So my frustrations it would see
Trying to chip it away with my pride
But it would not give release

That tiny gift stayed through it all
As if to send a message clear
That no matter how hard life did seem
I would always find it here


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