My Father’s Hands
In the shadow of their constant guide
newborns knew cradled comfort.
They crafted airplane rides with love
and young hearts knew no fear
of impending gravity, palmed protection
drew near like the courage of a soldiers pride.
Toiling and laboring lack the sin of pride
but mapped a master’s guide
of a father’s might and protection
in securing his family’s comfort.
They caressed the changing fears
in his heart and captured the tender love
of his children. His own protection
seeking clasped hands on bending knees, love
still weaved within the tendons of his old palms, comfort
remained in the success of his children, pride
branded his chest boldly and with the guide
of able applause, my father had no fears
for his blood was not wasted, his hands guided
the shoulders of my mother, giving comfort
and appreciation for her surrogate hands, that loved
us with obedience in his absence and strike fear
when little ones misbehaved. His protection
was a noble beacon, it’s glare was never dim. Pride
cried for those now skeletal hands, unfortunate fear
stole my words, a lost goodbye , a protection
i pray has transformed in angelic grace and may guide
the heart of an ailing mother finally home. I see his love
clinging to the wrist of my sons and his pride
wrapped in the heavy touch of my daughter’s comfort.
This is my father’s hands, protection.
This is my father’s hands, love.
This is my father’s hands, comfort.
This is my father’s hands, pride.
This is my father’s hands, guide.
This is my father’s hands, fear.
Protection that came from love,
comforting his children with pride.
A guide who mastered his fear.
I think i've improved...if i do say so myself...my first sestina seemed to rhyme..and not often in a good way.
Practice makes room for improvement (My Secondary school teacher's fave quote) Thank you Sir Simon where ever you are...