Northwest NEWS

April 8, 2002



by Tyler Stone
   I hold my life in the palm of my hand
   Explained the old, gnarled man.
   All these lines drawn upon my skin
   Tell many stories of wonder and woe.
   There's short lines and long
   Some wavy and thick.
   Others are straight and fine
   Making small scratches or fancy designs.
   Tell my what you see, child.
   The forks in the road, the paths taken.
   This one leads to that one
   That one leads to nowhere.
   Lines that stop abruptly
   Lines that are never ending.
   Lines that cross the entire surface
   These are the highways and routes of life.
   The flashy ones, exploding wildly
   Show the pride of a peacock.
   They boast and brag
   Telling stories of conquest.
   These little ones, so small and shy
   Try to hide pain and humility.
   They know what happens to peacocks
   Who strut too much.
   Lines that are shaky
   Lines that quiver
   Are lines that have seen sadness
   And tell of deep fears.
   I hold my life in the palm of my hand
   Explained the gnarled old man.
   It's my map to the past
   Charting my voyages of discovery.
   Now look at your hand, child.
   Your skin is still soft, still unlined.
   You're waiting to live your adventures
   Waiting for your lifelines.