The Hand Of Life by Misti

I wonder at the hand life deals you.  How some people are born into greatness and others trauma, poverty and deep sadness.  If only ‘the good’ could be distributed in even measures; if that person hunched over in a wheelchair unable to walk, talk or live a life of true experiences could suddenly rise up, smile upon face and walk free, sampling life unaided for the first time.

Am I the only one who looks at the sky as an object of utter beauty?  Who can see and smell the lush green grass, hear children’s laughter their innocence undamaged by modern greed and anger?

I wish I could touch the forehead of the man who sits before me at the next pavement table and take away his pain, so that he may draw new breath into his lungs and a natural hue to his deathly pale face.  That he would no longer need his walking stick and that his wife’s tired eyes would then sparkle.  They’d see the sunshine, feel hope surge through them and all would be well in the world again.

And for those gathered upon their yacht with their mocking laughter, too rich on life to appreciate the pain of others, I pray for a rain cloud.  Not that I’m spiteful but I’m frustrated by their inability to appreciate a gifted life or the angst of the lady standing on the dock in  dowdy floral dress and face void of belief that good things can happen because she knows it’s not true.  Life’s not been kind to her.  Her soul so tortured, her body battered yet her mind grateful that for a few minutes at least, she need not remember the past, or suffer at the hands of another.

I’m lucky and I praise that right.  For though I have a past and a present many would not wish for, I see things and I feel things.  When I smile, it’s so very real.  The dreamy music of a trickling stream conjures images of fairies, their rainbow wings glistening, projecting splendid patterns upon the flowing water.  In the overhead sky great fire-breathing dragons are to be seen.  Whilst a ruined castle invokes thoughts of formidable battles, the clashing of swords bearing the blood of man proud to die for his cause.   Or perhaps…that fair maiden with her heavenly white flowing gown billowing through the tower window.  She stands there blissful with love, hopeful her beloved will return as a worthy warrior to claim her hand, she the Lord’s daughter.

Yes, I’m a dreamer and I wouldn’t want it any other way, and no I shall never truly grow up.  For it is the innocence of a mind untainted by greed and vanity that is the richest of all.  And if I could have but one wish…it would be to touch others with happiness that for however long would ease their pain, allowing hope to flood their minds and their eyes to be opened like mine…


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