In the hands of who.

In the hands of who.

A Poem by andrew mitchell

We'll never know
what time, it is really,
for there will always be
those who play
with the hands of time.
He who holds the stick
that points the way
not necessarily the one
who leads.
For there are those
without sticks that carry
stones that move forward -
a rolling stone gathers no moss,
a stagnant mind drowns
in a dead pool.
Sticks and stones may
break your bones and
the words will hurt you,
but it was the paper cut
that ran the deepest
so the newspaper read.

© 2020 andrew mitchell


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dear Andrew... even when death is close to our Door...
many Politicians would rather die than make decisions to save themselves,
a well as all the people they Serve and we elected to Keep us safe.
It is Madness. Blessed are the Meek and the Peace makers; they shall inherit the Earth.
truly, Pat

Posted 4 Years Ago


and the news today is like constant paper cuts that are making us do a steady bleed of fear, of panic,
but mostly sadness and loss.
j.

Posted 4 Years Ago



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Added on April 5, 2020
Last Updated on April 5, 2020

Author

andrew mitchell
andrew mitchell

adelaide, Australia



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Strindberg said. " When I come home and sit at my writing table, then I live.... I live, and I live in manifold fashion of all human beings. I depict; I am glad with the glad, wicked with the wicked,.. more..

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