Your hand spoke to me in its most tender language.
You have helped to break down mighty walls that had once enclosed us from the rest of the world. You elbowed your way through the crowd in search for a more meaningful reality; you scaled the heights to gain a better perspective of what lies ahead, of the future we do not know. In your continuous communion with life, you saw in it the beauty of dying. You touched, you suffered, you felt despair at its greatest depths. And yet you found there is a great life in death.
You touched me and thirst was quenched, my wounds felt the healing touch of that mighty hand. You spoke to me, and i knew Hope.
You looked back to pick up the pieces of time and the scattered memories of your life, and that same hand that heals, created another witness to your good works. May this piece of art serve as the silent witness.
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