Idle Hands

In the quiet corners where shadows blend, Lie idle hands that twist and bend. Silent whispers in the night’s cool breeze, Hands with time, but no purpose to seize. Fingers tracing paths on a dusty floor, Seeking meaning, pleading for more. The clock ticks by with a steady sound, Yet these hands remain, tied and bound. Dreams once vibrant, now dulled with time, Idle hands linger, mired in grime. Lost in thought, they weave and thread, In the tapestry of the mind, where memories are spread. The world outside is bright and bold, But idle hands, grow so cold. In the hush of dawn, a silent plea, For something more than what is, to be. In their stillness, there's a spark, A hidden desire, a waiting arc. For idle hands, though quiet and still, Hold within the power to build, to fill. One day they’ll rise with newfound grace, To shape, to mold, to find their place. No longer bound by silent fears, Idle hands will conquer years. [End]