The Hands of The World

The Hands of the World craft every life,

But construct every tear and lengthy life fear.

They are the writers of the rising sun, the conductors of the sublime seas,

But they orchestrate the annihilation and decimation of the lives of all the living.

From the smallest worm in the earthly soil to the largest whale in the darkest depths of the murky waters.

They are the generals in natures army as they command the grass to grow and the wind to blow. 

Whilst they manage all the worlds mountains as they rise to a point where the peaks pierce the clouds.

They also direct the dance of the magma below our feet with fiery commands that match the Earths every heart beat. 

They are the players in our game of chess where we are but pawns made to move to the grove that they instruct, with anything but luck. 

For they are the tacticians that strategised our evolution before we even knew we were anything more than a biological illusion. 

They were the first to point to the sky and wish to stand on the moon, they said it at the risk of sounding like a loon. 

They were not just the ones that fled in tough times, or the ones that took credit for the exuberant epochs.

They were the ones that stood by us and inspired us when the hope was gone and the light had vanished. 

They were our guards as we slept,

The warriors that protected us,

The leaders that lead us,

The writers that inspired us,

And the dreamers that made everything possible. 

The End

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