Hands

Oh how frail stone turns
Here in may hand's hold
It slips away like sand therethrough

It rests a Midas-like curse
Here on my hand's hold

I bear a Midas-like curse

Frail
I feel my hands numb
A phrase
All through my hands

Grains, till my old hand goes on, afraid
Tracing vane odes for the grave
Only vane odes for the grave

I can not feel the texture
With my hand's thumb
As all I touch become true

The evil Midas-like curse here in my hands
Make me unable to hold