Life in My Hands

Sometimes I wonder
What the lines
On my hands mean

They hide my past
And tell my future

They tell stories
Which I wouldn’t
Want to reveal

They tell of
Struggles and misfortunes
Which are yet to befall

And may be love and life
Which will be well lived

At times they just
Seem like random lines
Drawn on the whim of God

Squiggles, curves, crosses
Faint and sometimes dark

And yet they are meant
To tell a story
Which is uniquely mine


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Filed under Fiction, Poetry

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