Say Out Loud Poem by Clemence Wega

Over every living thing;
Dead, gone or begotten
I see a hand.

Under the sun and sobering clouds;
The same light shining for proud and poor
Dwells among, keeping them cool,

Hips and piles of dirt;
Hills and clouds of sin,
Myriad of languish
I feel the hand;

It is a weaver of meandering souls and wondering minds
The breaker of silence; a happy end to a mad son
The torch in the darkness; the present in a past,
A string of strength in the weary

I see a hand,
Each time a tear drops or hope is lost,
A hand to wipe, a hand to strike

I see for you in times of shortened hope;
Faith and joy lost or found,
In those times, and through now;
I see a hand and you know whose it is.

Be grateful and say out