For GiorgosThe hand you give me
Is never quite formed enough
In shades of wood or life in general
It calls upon protection in mentioning dark points
Hold me, the artist up too close a light
So that they forever remember the power of a hand
When it is honestly the answer to weapons
and peace in between trusted spaces for many more
Some natural movements are formed
In a tight chain of sequences that echo... out and in
Like the perfected grain of ancient oak or other
Which means more than a hand with prints can try
And reveal in all the millennia before it is forever gone
No comments:
Post a Comment