Touch.
It had been years since
he had touched another
living creature
with love and
care and
tenderness.
His hands of death
a barrier between him
and his fellow humans
leaving him destined
to be
alone.
He tried to replicate
that human touch
kneading breads,
and doughs. It never
worked, they needed
anger and strength,
not tenderness.
On a whim he
started gardening.
Without a heartbeat
the flowers could survive
his hands of death
and thrive.
He could spend hours
with his hands in the soil.
The sun up above,
nature all around.
Pruning and fussing
until his flowers were
perfect.
It wasn't a human touch
but seeing his flowers
grow and bloom,
because of
his love
his care
his tenderness.
It made him proud.
Knowing his hands
could make something live
instead of being forever
shrouded in death.
Here amongst his flowers
his hands of death were
hands of
life.
A/N You can also find me on Twitter and AO3 as Darke_Faerie