Palms. Everyone has two of them. You can hold something gently because it is delicate or frightened. You can use them to grip tightly to keep something from dropping or getting away. You can put them together to applaud a person,a performance or to express happiness. But the best palms of all belong to God. I usually stay away from truly sad poems but this one wants to be written.
In The Palms Of His Hands
Where are the lost
Who fell between the cracks?
Children of the streets,
With none to watch their backs.
They hang around the bars
Hoping at least to find
Someone who will take them home that night
For whatever they have in mind.
Bodies and minds aging faster
Than they were ever meant to be.
Huddling in doorways or empty boxes
Trying to find some peace in sleep.
But the cold steals through their ragged clothes
And rats run across their feet.
The terrors that their parents sowed
Are the tragedy they reap.
Sometimes at night the angels come
To take them to a place
Where they can be a child again
Far from this ugly space.
Please don't turn away when you see
These children of the street.
You could be their savior,
Their voice when they can't speak.