The Artist's hand

Dedicated to my friend "Said Maroun"

True, fine and white like snow,

He will make me want to bow,

For his greatness yet to come,

For his hands under the sun.

He ached in silence, alone,

Suffered in every way, alone.

Like a saint whose blood is vain,

A man of life who lived in pain...

What a lie! He tried to smile,

For me. Keeping his wounds,

Hidden, burried but couldn't,

Exposing his soul on passing Nile.

Where are his veins going, where? 

Who should be seeing? He cried.

Heard him call me from the side,

And on his eyes I went to sail...

From the world, to some lands,

Where only hope and rock bands,

I went slowly to match my heart,

With care and his popping Art!

Does he really want my help?

Or is it just another way to tell,

The world that he made beauty,

From the sheets of men's glory?

I kept looking for his hands,

The artist learned how to dance,

and made the real seem like fantasy.

Love and lust were no longer fancy. 

Reviews

[Dayran]

I think I may have seen his hands. hi Da!

[Lord Da Crownsmeyer]

Thank you sir :D

[Griffin Hill]

I really liked the ‘popping art' line.