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 © 2017. All rights reserved.

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