His eyes tell a story
I can never understand,
for I have not seen
what they’ve seen.
His hands speak of things
I can never comprehend,
for mine have not
laboured like his have.
The lines on his face
speak of things
I cannot fathom,
for I have not
known such things.
His skin, pigmented
and aged by years
of sun exposure,
tells of events
I cannot perceive;
for I have not
witnessed such
atrocities.
© C.J. Spammer
Response to our Inspiration Call on April 6, 2017
Get Creative at www.facebook.com/CreativeTalentsUnleashed
Categories: Featured Writer's
That poem certainly deserved to be featured.
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Thank you, Ann 🙂
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