The writing’s on the hand

Staring at textures of
skin and light, shadows
and scars, painted across
a topography of vein and

bone, he sees an age-worn,
sorrow-torn, hirsute surface
whose rivulets unerringly
circulate life that remains

teasingly beyond his grasp;
out of reach, this life, with
its promise and potential,
augurs riverbeds run dry,

fortunes forever lost, and
the certainty that one day
others will look upon him
knowing death, as he does,

like the back of his hand

art: Mano by Javier Arizabalo

Published by a.d.matthias

no w here

10 thoughts on “The writing’s on the hand

  1. This is a beautiful poem! I normally don’t leave comments, but I found myself reading this over and over because I think it’s brilliant how you rhymed with ideas such as the lines on the hands morphing to rivers then life fleeting, and also the hand itself grasping onto life and then letting go. And I really like in the end how the normally boring phrase, “like the back of his hand” just punches through that last idea rhyme with death and familiarity with the cycle of death. Wonderful job! I really enjoyed reading this. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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