Hands

People say there are hands,
Who grasp at your very soul.
They say to tell the difference,
Is to reach your final goal.

I cannot tell the difference,
And it's tearing me apart.
Where are the hands to save,
To give a place to start?

People say there are people,
Who pull you this way or that.
They say to tell the difference,
Will keep you from going flat.

I cannot tell the difference,
And people are turning back.
Seeing that I won't choose sides,
So they leave me in the black.

Your friends are only friends,
If you follow the path they chose.
Choose something wrong and you will see,
They'll leave you with their foes.

So make a choice if you dare,
And find your friends at last.
I refuse to make a choice,
And am forgotten fast.

People say that we need help,
A sort of guide and friend.
Someone to take our hand,
And guide us to the end.

As I've had my share of guides,
And listened to their advice.
I've realized they're only guides,
As long as you pay a price.

Perhaps being torn apart,
Isn't nearly so bad.
As committing myself to something,
That I could never have had.

Everyone gets a piece of me,
And I am torn asunder.
But now there's no more fighting,
Which begs us all to wonder--

Is it worth having a piece
Of something you loved so much?
Maybe all you really wanted,
Was another piece to clutch.