Condemned

My hands are clenched.  Fierce storms inside.
All jewels and prizes by my feet I've spied.
No way to reach out to take what I see.
Some glorious future that's meant for me
Waits for my reaching.  It is soon to be.

My hands are tied.  Great glory meant
By these bound hands cannot be sent
Out into the beautifully green earth
To show the depth, the height, and the girth...
To write of each soul's inestimable worth.

My hands have no strength. They've tried to write
To encourage each soul to fight for their light.
My hands, pained for evil they've done
In pursuit of what others, uncaring, call "fun",
Have lost so much that might have been won.

My hands ache.  A warrior's hands
Fight for survival as instinct demands.
Warrior's hands wanting to shed no more
Precious life-light out of anyone's core.
Hands praying their victims have faith in store.

My hands behind me, tied to a pole,
Never again to harm a pure soul.
Thousands all round me chanting my name
Wanting an end to me, bringing such shame.
Tis mockery to me; to them, a game.

My hands wrote the words that I see
Written on paper at my bound feet.
Words that were written in hopes they might save
Those to whom such words I once gave.
Now I feel naught but a poor wretched knave.

My hands, trembling, as my time nears,
Completely unable to wipe my own tears.
Tears through which I see the foul swords
Flashing in sunlight, soon to sever life's cords
I wonder, bleakly, whom shall reap the rewards.

My hands, with no soft hope to discern.
Then to my wonder, the blades, as one, turn.
Souls who somehow are here to me free
From cords of death that do bind me.
Tears clear from my eyes.  Now I, saviors, see.

My hands, freed, now wipe at my face.
These who love me, my saviors, my grace.
These I once hurt, each soul, every one,
Came to save me.  Wretched evil, undone.
Perhaps I am not destined to be done.

My hands reach to the jewels at my feet-
Words I'd have died for.  Truth made complete.
Then reaching out to these I caused pain,
I give my gems.  Greatest truth is made plain-
Suffering forgiven equals great gain.

Adam Scott Campbell