crooked fingers pointing to
all thats wrong and must be right,
lays a bed of discontent
a thickly veiled charmless night,
no room for movement, no space for thought
violent calm in acceptances way,
whittling down the very core
of rare and truthful, warming rays,
leaving wind and sun and rain
to shine a light where life does meet,
crooked fingers gently feeling
a tender heart of careful beats.