A Life of Open Hands

A Life of Open Hands

I remember my worth,
the quiet strength in knowing, not proving,
and when a kindness or joy comes to me,
for a moment, an old sadness stirs—
that whisper from before, that child’s echo:
unworthy, undeserving.

But I stand with the one I am now,
unbinding those faded words,
letting them drift with the breath of yesterday.

I no longer chase the bright distractions,
those colored orbs that pull and taunt,
leading to restless wanderings.
Instead, I hold them all—
each task, each weight, each flash of color.
With skillful hands, I juggle, steady, clear.

I guide my path with what I know—
the compass of my emotions,
steady against the frame of values I choose,
forged by living, bound to purpose.

These values are my action;
they shape me toward gratitude, toward joy.
And when goodness touches me, I do not flinch.
I accept the blessings with open hands, unshaken.
My journey, I know, is a joyful one.

In every gift I give, in each kindness,
the world’s response comes back to me, full-hearted, multiplied.
With open eyes, open hands, I receive—
ready, deserving, alive.

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