Psalms of My Hands by Ginny Jones

Tortured souls I know all too well
Hell, I am one of them—
Melancholy to the core.
If you only knew the pain I’ve borne
You’d know my need to write these poems.

Yet, as it stands, so do I
With ink stained pages
These think pained sages
Chronicle my journey from despair
To joy and everywhere in between
On an eternal search for destiny
A quest that leaves me wanting—
Haunted by the memories.

These are the psalms of my hands
Testaments of broken dreams and broken hearts
Unspoken things that once captured me
‘Til I was freed by these words

These are the psalms of my hands
Mentions of redemptions from sensations
Temptations, degradations, and toxic relation-ships
From the pen to my lips

These are the psalms of my hands
Unleashed with a purpose to disperse
Dispel and compel those things back to hell
So, listen well and take it in

These are the psalms of my hands
And with open palms, I demand that you stop
Hear me, no need to fear me,
Just join me on this journey of life.

As I share what I write and narrate a story
Of hope and healing
And every feeling that led me there
Through these, the psalms of my hands.

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