Are rarely full.
Always wanting more
Yet never making room,
Forcing their way to the front
Yet somehow still falling behind,
Demanding to be heard
While taking for granted those who listen.
Yes, hands that grasp
Are never full,
Because good things easily slip
Out of wrongful hands
Either by fate
Or by simply not being the kind of person
Who can handle
Good things
When they come.
Hands that grasp
heartinscriber 