Dirty Hands...

Hands without callouses
Softer than pillows
Extending empty palms
Begging for alms

Complaining of hardships,
of exhaustion, of woe
with sweatless-furrowed brows
Saying "... man- you don't know."
as if their true faces don't clearly show

They give empty words
of thanks with no intent
for every unearned dime
that they'll squander & lament

And to all that ignore them
they will viciously scorn
Shaking soft fists at them
because they won't mourn 

The dirty hands
of the under-handed schemers
defiling the sands
stolen from the hourglasses of dreamers

As the industrious creators
shake clean hands with firm grips
and pledge to produce
what the thieves won't eclipse

And the dirt on the hands
of those in between
that toil in virtues
learning what their lives mean
can be covered in mud
but remain honestly clean