The Callous hands of Living

The Callous hands of Living. We all have a taint left by the callous hand of living.. And it interferes with our material interface. Jading it to everything. Sometimes there is just nothing to say anymore. For all you say is shifted and viewed askew. For the sensitive, . These times are of a painful nature. For despite the efforts to bring forth a squaring of view. There is nothing that can be done without. For that is for the other to determine. During these times the yearn to separate dawns coldly . And yet the knowing that there is yet need . Is what restrains them from dashing madly off into the night. So they stay feeling the folded intentions . That split the skin of the soul . Doing nothing of rebuilding what could be . Wisdoms flower sweetly drifts in the winds of fate . Waving to those who have the eyes to see . It is there, that understanding is found . Even if it brings little peace to the subtle ways . And such is it that you stand close by . Even if within the shadows of another’s life . And be what you can to bring to them the truth of who you are . For one day, this too shall be known . Your quite motions, will scream silently within their ears . And the eyes shall alight again upon your own . And maybe, just maybe smile to you . For again, you will be known not only in the light of what was . But of how you are and what you have become . The betterment that lies within . So unseen . . Pertnikoff Jan 13/04

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