Dirty Hands

By Gavin Lawry

His hands are distinct
Rough, calloused, and torn
Smudged and stained black
The results of labor born

No matter how much he washed
His hands never looked clean
Only when he wasn’t working
Did the stains seem to vanish

But his stained hands worked hard
Providing for his family
And his hands were often folded
Praying and leading out in church

They were hands I trusted
Believed in
Relied on
And found comfort in

But those stains on his hands
That dark blemish on his outward appearance
Reflect something deep in his heart
Warning of the darkness and evil within

Those hands I trusted
Were filled with deceit
Those hands I believed in
Were used for vile deeds

Those hand I relied on
Were relishing in corruption
Those hands I found comfort in
Were those of a despicable predator

How could those hands
The hands of one I loved
Be used to hurt and harm
Others close to me

The betrayal is total
Those hands I will see no more
My family is too important
To allow those dirty hands to come close

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About The Author

A feral house father who aspires to be a writer. I draw inspiration from my traumas, my experiences as a DJ and a teacher. I focus on poetry and short stories.

The Alchemist’s Cabin was built for moments like this—when a piece of writing asks you to pause, breathe, and feel something true. We gather work made with patience and care, and we make room for voices that refuse to be rushed. If you felt at home here, you’re always welcome to return.

Thank you for being here 🖤