Complex Poem by Gary Hembree

My hands are gently, my hands are swift.
In this room I use my gift.
Seconds turn to minutes, minutes to hours.
Each second that passes, a life takes a sleep.
Each minute that passes, a life begins to wake.
Each hour to come, is a time to pray.
At the end of the day, in this room, I am your god.
At the end, only I decide who lives.
My hands are gently, my hands are swift.
Should you not wake, pray the lord your soul to take.