Paw And Hand Poem by Evan Skora

Running free with the wind
Playing music through the trees,
Stretching the mystery of the world
Holding family close.

These hands are not mine
Yet those of my sacred friend,
These feet are not mine
Yet those of my most hated enemy.

If we were whole at one time
Not an empty vessel for souless creatures to roam,
Why were we given this body
Not that of the other beings we see as lower.

A day between the paw and the hand,
Beautiful second of time
Before the gun fires once more,
Claiming our soul.