• Fists can’t tell what a heart does lack,
    Fists will merely sway,
    Until such fists have been unclenched,
    Fists will lose their way.

    Tears can’t help or tell the fists,
    How to stop the pain,
    Tears will only meet the fists,
    And hurt shall be the gain.

    An up-raised palm can stop the fists,
    Yet will not unclench them too,
    For if the palms stop the fist,
    Then their hands will then swing through.

    Fists can’t tell if what they hit,
    Was meant to fill that path,
    Fists can only strike again,
    Swallowed in the aftermath.

    A kind heart will be hit and hit again,
    The fists will strike it fast,
    The fists will win and then move on,
    The heart will become the past.

    Only when the fists can’t tell,
    They can no longer see,
    And kindness returns from the heart,
    The fists unclenched can be.

    But unclenched fists, as they are known,
    Will not be called as such,
    They shall be known has hard worn hands,
    That spread a caring touch.