I see war baked and cemented in the wrinkles of those hands. They are broken, yet strong. They have a swagger about them. It is the kind that becomes a memory. These two hands are a brutal reminder. It is the false security they hold. They are to be respected but take from you without any. Those hands show, within the droughty crevices, and wrinkles, fear. The kind of fear that is created when you just aren’t capable of thinking for yourself.
Those two hands carry the possible life of 30 people, as well as the possibility of saving thousands. These hands are confused. They have nothing to lose. They follow the smooth round, fierce outline. They roll the casing; one casket into another, eventually; maybe.
Have those 2 hands ever held someone? Have they felt anything other than fear and anxiety? Have they held a good moment? Those hands were not molded they were forged from the darkest spaces a human can go. They carry the decisions of others. False sense of Freedoms. Forced Ideas and beliefs. Rape, un-consensual momentum into the shadows of regret. They manifest the type of future that only greed can create.
They are creating and manifesting someone else’s destiny. They are trying to control fate.