Submit a poem for analysis. Hands by Liorah Atkinson See her there. She sits silent, her eyes downcast, observing the hands that lie in her lap. Not knowing whose they are. Well then Imagining a time when hands, like butterflies danced in the air, graceful and silent.
Silence now is the only refuge.
This is no home to grace, but a lifetime of fear and injustice cannot wipe those visions of a perfect world, of their smiles, the love of a man and a woman, when what that love has bourne now sits silent in a room, observing the hands. Submit a poem for analysis.