Hands of Man. Honor the hands of man, That keep civilization running, That build the bridge, the aqueduct, the dam While also building the sword, the bomb, the gun, They coax seeds from stubborn earth, Toiling under merciless sun, Harvesting food for family hearth, Then strike a match when orders come, They cradle children soft and small, Build castles from scattered toys, They hold wives their hearts in thrall, Hands keeping house in poise, The hands that make the chains to bind, Also forge the keys that free, Whatever can be imagined by human mind, Hand can make them be, Unpraised, un-thanked, they labor on, No statues raised for broken skin, No songs for knuckles raw and worn— The quiet strength that holds it in. Beneath the skin of every man, These hands keep civilization’s flame. They build, destroy, protect, create— And ask for nothing in return. Hail the hands, though cracked and scarred, The unsung kings of toil and bone. Without their grip, the world falls dark— They carry on, and stand alone. -DistortedSaint