The Fate of Man

The fate of man
It rests
Renders
Resides
In the palm of your hand
Will you realize your hold?
Allow the grain to slip through fingers to loose
Will you squeeze too hard?
Crush the blessed thing in the palm of your might hand
Or will you find that spot
The perfect pressure
Gripping without squisher
This is the trick
The find
The keep
The nick
Loose enough to move
But tight enough to keep it from slipping away