This Hand

This Hand

This hand is cut, is hurt and is scarred with scorn.
This hand holds sorrow and morns.
This hand is ripped and torn.
As this hand is born.

This hand is burned with its own fire,
But with it, it shall scorch the lire.
The deceitful steals from the buyer,
And they shall be burned by fire.

This hand holds the hammer,
Which shapes the metal we all hold.
This hand fights and is bold,
As it clammers with the old.

This hand controls the peoples fate,
And the lives that it makes.
Even though the souls it take,
immediately fake there sins they make,

This hand shows the way, For we are all blind.
With the test it writes, we are all timed.
And with this hand it writes our grade.
For each one of us, our future is made.

This hands hates and is cold,
This hand has love and is warm.
All have this hand, everyone young and old,
Even Poe and Lenore.

This hand we all own,
Right down to the bone.
And with it we are alone,
But with this hand we pierce the dark,
And bring together all of use to the ark.

This hand holds the key, to heaven or hell that is our choice,
We speak the lying and truthful voice,
That is us, a voice of truth and lies.
We all lie even though the voice of truth tries,
We will die from our lies.

Now what key does you hand hold I ask?Is it the key to hell where you shall be put in a cask?
Or is it heavens key so that the light you may bask.
Or maybe this hand doesn’t hold a key.
Now how could that possibly be?
And now you see,
The sins of you and me.