Rough Hands

Do rough hands make a man?
Makes you wonder sometimes...
With a fistful of sand,
The hourglass still falls at regular intervals,
But the glass gets weaker with each turn.

Some men are born into this.
Born and raised with edges and angles;
A view skewed by evil and trouble,
And they are forced to reconcile
With every would-be contender alive.
There is a rare jovial fighter;
Mostly those just born with fire.

If he can't control it
He'll burn down too quick.
But some find a way out of this shit.
Some channel it somewhere to prove
That against them no one can pass.
Some choose a cause too big,
Then cash the checks and wonder
Why the hell they had to live.
What's to live for if your heart
Was broken from the start?

All good men start out broken.
How else would they be good
If they didn't dabble in the force
That fights their efforts,
And always be swinging like underdogs
With the faint scent of winning?

Rough hands, hearts ablaze.
They'll never stop for all their days.
And raise a hand for cause and right.
But they still burn on
Through the night.

Copyright ©2013 Charles Anthony Dominick