Wednesday, January 22, 2014

The Hand

In a discipline where the ink is mighty used to orchestrate issues
A story is told of a man
Whose hands never failed with his ink!
He whose hand was an emblem of truth and honor
The hand that ever shook everyone’s

T’was he that used his ink to project a people, a race, a culture and a heritage
Though in an often stereotyped discipline
He raised the bar by tackling hard core issues with dignity
And made name both near and far
Leaving his comrades with diverse emotions

But I envision a man in a web somewhere
For in his discipline
T’was always a battle for survival
And that which is unseen remains such
An entangled piece of web

And now I behold a man
With an inkless cold hand
That all hands now salute on a snowy day!