Aging Poem

A Poem About Growing Old

I wrote this poem about one of the things that women feel when they are growing old.

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Dear Angie, I should have responded much sooner to your beautiful comment about my poem. I am so thrilled that you could completely relate to my words and then share them with others to help...

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The Hands Of A Warrior

Patricia A Fleming © more by Patricia A Fleming

Published by Family Friend Poems December 2018 with permission of the Author.

Purple veins strain against the skin.
Pale, translucent, paper thin.
Skinny fingers clawed in monstrous shapes,
Brown spots from years that she can't erase.

Now wrinkled and fragile, weak and sore,
So many things she can't do anymore.
Some days she feels she's been betrayed
By the cruelty of her advancing age.

She rubs her hands to ease the ache
And recalls the life they helped to make.
She looks at them and feels the loss,
Living a life bears a very high cost.

These hands that held her children near,
That gently dried their salty tears.
Hands that held her husband's tight,
That never let go against the fight.

Miraculous hands that protected and soothed.
Hands, they conveyed her every mood.
Hands so strong they could carry the weight,
That would never give up and never forsake.

Those hands that took little but always gave,
Hands that applauded each achievement made.
Those soft, sweet hands that gently cared,
For those sick or lost in dark despair.

Hands that fussed and fumbled that day
Her husband gave their daughter away.
Those hands holding tight as he slowly died,
Caressing his brow as she stood by his side.

Hands that rocked her grandson to sleep,
That gladly took over when others grew weak.
Hands that once held everyone that she loved,
And prayed for strength to our God above.

Hands that were always so willing to give,
Hands that reveal a life fully lived.
Small, feeble hands, now empty and cold,
These hands that each day will keep growing old.

These hands she now tends to hide away,
These hands that at times make her feel ashamed.
Grotesque and useless in her eyes,
They rest in her lap as she quietly cries.

But I see the hands of a hero so true,
A woman who survived what this life put her through.
A woman whose heart still shimmers like gold,
With the hands of a warrior who made her mark on this world.

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ABOUT THE POET:

Started writing at an early age and kept journals over the years. After retiring in 2016, wrote primarily poetry every day. This site is the best of all and I am still so grateful to have found it. There are some immensely talented writers on here.
I have not been writing quite as often lately but I keep my hand in it. My other hobbies include...

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Has this poem touched you? Share your story!
  • Chris Sanford by Chris Sanford
  • 3 years ago

I absolutely love this poem. This poem describes exactly what my own mother is going through at this moment. Your description of the skin and veins are spot on in comparison to my mother. I shared this poem with her. She cried. She loved it and it lifted her spirits. Thank you.

  • Florence Muiu by Florence Muiu
  • 10 months ago

I feel alone and betrayed
I gave my time and my money to care for my family
I gave my pension to daughter for education
Then she turned before departure to tell me she will never get married
At first I didn't understand
Till later am told she hangs with LGBQT
I felt betrayed
My husband not talking to me
I sit alone and remember the sacrifice I made
Such pain
Who will help me carry it
I take my walks alone
I eat alone
Such pain
Just when I needed her to help me
Now she does not call or talk to me
Who can I share this pain with
I feel betrayed

  • Angie.barker by Angie.barker
  • 4 years ago

I absolutely loved this poem. I had tears running down my face as I was reading it and as I read it again to my nieces. My mother's hands bother her a lot and have begun to change shape somewhat, and I think it just put me in mind of her. My hands bother me some and have changed some as well, and I know we, as women, let those kinds of things bother us. We should all look at it as you did...hands of a hero. My mom is my hero, and no matter what her hands look like, they will always be beautiful to me because I know how many people she has taken care of with those hands and how many she still takes care of with those hands. She has a beautiful heart. Thank you. Beautifully written.

Dear Angie,
I should have responded much sooner to your beautiful comment about my poem. I am so thrilled that you could completely relate to my words and then share them with others to help them understand my message as well. I wrote this poem one day after my hands had been bothering me and I was looking at them and thinking how ugly they were. I feel ashamed of them in front of people. But while writing this, I realized instead they were a badge of honor, and I would start looking at them that way and remembering the wonderful years of my life so far. Thank you for even taking the time to read my poem. We women should stick together because we are pretty darn amazing! -Pat F.

Loved your poem, sister Patty. I will never hide my hands again. Added your poem to my favourites. God Bless.

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