These Hands

I lie here,
Staring at my hands.
Thinking of all the
Destruction they’ve caused,
All the mouths
They have silenced.

These palms carry
No blood
These knuckles
Stay rough.
And I feel like
The devil is smiling

Idle hands are the
Devil’s workshop right?
Well these hands cannot
Remain static.
Senile and paper-like
These hands will lay waste

And hopefully learn to love
In the following decades.
Maybe they’re not here to hold,
But here to chip away
So waste away your nine lives
I’ll be here with these ten fingers.