Loving Hand

With confidence and ease. With expertise. And unintentional tease. They glide along the contours and search for every crevice. A way to find the key to the music long tuned out. Each inch alive and sighs in awe. Of all that was and all that is. Awaiting to be soft, receptive, and fulfilled. The barriers fall back. They cannot stand a chance. The mind cannot explain the melting of its hardened defense. It all becomes a blur. A state of purity. When one is touched by hands that only sing of love. And this defines a man beyond the greatest verbiage. If only it could be an everyday occurrence. All powers unite in wisdom and acceptance. As love swells up in volume until the grandest mergence. And as the journey flows, the heart cannot but glow with that which cannot dim low right then or in a moment. True virtue of a man has finally been known. Preventing him from war and its subtle undercurrent. The loving hands make marks deeper than scars. Turning the process of paying forward on. And all the cells rejoice in innocence and joy. 'Cause those hands of man have ripened beyond the nonsensical execution of the mundane. And thus the word "Amen."