Volume 91, Issue 76
Thursday, February 12, 1998
|ARTS AND ENTERTAINMENT
The solid, steady motion of his hands,
Quietly controls man across the land.
Although his actions are faint and serene
His message will never pass by unseen.
Nobody minds as he shoves us around,
Deceitful and sly, not making a sound.
He ignores my protest and my sad cry,
An expressionless face is his only reply.
I'll never win our perpetual war.
He'll always leave me longing for more.
And again his arm swoops down to find me.
Though small, its shadow begins to blind me.
His powerful hands force me to my bed,
Unable to fight, I lay down my head.
And I know that as I drift off to sleep,
The time I lose will be his to keep.
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