Dear Myra Brooks,
The first time I read your poem, 'The Master's Hand, I was sitting in the audience of my church. It was during confirmation and everyone had received a copy. I followed along with the voice that came over the speakers. My eyes were swimming down the paper, each line meaning something new and different to me. Since there were so many distractions around me I was very surprised with myself that the poem had caught my eye and I was able to stay focused and in sync with the voice reading it. Afterwards I sat down and pondered upon what I thought the poem was supposed to mean. Over the hour I thought I had come up with something.
Among all of us humans, we all have this image of what the "perfect" person is. Though we all have our scratches and scars, we all go on with our lives not giving a second glace at the "'not so pretty violins." I have, and I know for a fact that everyone at one point or another have not given people the benefit of the doubt just because of childish things, even though it is these flaws that make us simply human. After writing this and thinking about the poem thoroughly, I have concluded that it is okay to have these scratches somewhat like the violin. We all have them, so I do not think that we should put forth the effort in hiding them. I have also considered the fact that even though I am merely just one person, the actions, and words I have against others can impact them gravely. Me not taking my time to "bid" on people might not affect me, but it does make them feel unimportant. So I think it is up to these single beings, perhaps you, or I that have the ability to give the second looks and give the "not so often played violins" a chance to be heard. It just takes a simple gesture to reach out to them.
To me, this poem is attempting to get the point across that even though people do things that others may not approve of, thus the scratches and scars on the violin. It does not matter the appearance nor past, but the things that makes the violin beautiful is the staggering music that it makes, and when comparing this to people it is what comes from inside of us beautiful.
The old man in this poem to me resembles God. I say this because when nobody wants to bid anything on the old, ignoble violin, the old man in the back of the room steps forward. From the unwanted violin he plays an astonishing sound that nobody expected. I think this is very important to consider because god can always find the "pretty music" in all of us, and through that help us play the alluring tune that we are all capable of releasing. All we need is a touch of the Master's Hand.