Let nothing in my hand be a weapon.
Neither gun, wand, nor pen.
If my fingers should fist, please break them.
Should I be tempted to raise my hands in anger, quickly remind me that you did not give me hands for that purpose.
Violence is not the war i wage.
The hand … the hand is one of the most incredible instruments in the universe. Of all the bones in the body, one-fourth are in the hand. The balletic interplay of sinew and bone that is the human hand cannot be overstated, though it always seems to be thirsting to make a fist. Our greatest moment of humanity is when we open (un-fist) our hand to extend it in love … cradle a glass of wine … cup the chin or cheek of a loved one.
Even more … let nothing in my mouth be a weapon.
Not teeth, spit, or word.
Let my words be sweet … or savory. Never bitter, for I may have to eat them.
Turn my heart from hatred, and let love be the seeds i sow.
Fear is not the war I wage.
If I am to be known for anything in this world, let it be
“He left love where he went.”