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Vanilla Hands Inside the vanity of funnel clouds Clapping instruments of vanilla hands Hands that have held emptiness Hands that have held clenched fists Hands that have maneuvered puppet strings Hands that have clipped freedom's wings Hands that have held other hands The elite wore dark sunglasses Because everyone understands She let the cigarette burn down Until it scorched her knuckles bare But he massages treating art with lavere Writhing between fingers with no rings Loud voices where no language sings Only melody of stars carving holes in the sky It was the restrained laughter that made her cry Far away was there anyone listening? Her tear drops reflected that glistening The ocean rolled back away from the shore Coastline exposing her sea life affairs Vanilla hands pulled on the cellar door Locked, no one could escape downstairs Vanilla hands billowed up like chimney smoke Hands that have held prayers of begging revoke Hands that have held the sands of time Hands that have held faces sigh Hands that have held evidence to crime Hands that have waved hello... and hands that have waved goodbye The elite looked the other way Because everyone understands The hands of Love covers all Translation: The vanilla plant is epiphytic, meaning it derives its moisture and nutrients from the air and rain and grows usually on another plant. A tropical orchid that climbs on the surface. From the Latin origin "vaina sheath". "Theca". The capsules of fruit that grow within these sheaths are flavorful and have a pleasant scent. Often used in lotions and candles. The "elite" is the cream that rises to the top. Having just applied hand lotion, while checking the weather forecast, among other things on my mind. A source for this random poem. ~ Kasey Cole (Quasi Scribbler)