So much time spent holding on.
Tight grips. Twisted fists.
Holding on. Holding on.
Until it cannot be held.
The hands are tired.
The body worn.
To continue this way would not last to the morn.
The hands have gripped so tight for too long.
Snarled and curled. It is hard for them to unfold.
Slowly, they move. Tiny things slip away first.
Followed by others a little bigger each time.
All in all, it gets better. The hands do not hurt as much.
Loosening the grip. They relax more every time.
Until a day comes where they hold nothing but air.
Loose to the world. Free from any cares.
Straighter and lighter. Their work is more rewarding.
As instead of holding on, they help.
The relief of letting go has freed them to explore.
Open up doors. Wave. Clap. And more.
Even though they carry things, from time to time,
These beautiful hands no long hold onto anything.
