My hands move

The energy once used to see with eyes
Moved into both my hands with stuff to find
I feel for batteriies lurking is the drawer
My eyes look up to heaven as in a prayer
I thought my will would be in charge of change
While I am still not perfectly deranged
I am evolving without thought or choice
Shall I expect a louder, stronger voice
To swear at cyclists who have me annoyed
Or men in scooters going much too fast
Knocking down the fragile with their blast
No place is safe when dogs burst through my fence
While I find my purse and count the pence
Will those who see me notice this small change?
I’ll hit them with my metal stick ,outraged
I did not know I might lose all my sense
Now Satan’s living here I feel less tense

I welcome comments and criticism

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