The old man, in his tattered cloak,
Offers knowledge of unknown wonders,
Forsaken by the shallow hordes
That pass him by.
They search for richer robes.
– s. Clark
A scalpel, in truth, is just a knife.
But one is used to heal,
And one is used to harm.
The only difference
Is the hands that hold them,
How careful and controlled one is,
Causing the least harm possible,
Only what is needed to correct
The gentleness follows the intent,
To make better. To help.
While the plunging, jagged force of the knife
Always leaves scars.
– s. Clark
Though I swift and endless write,
I will never find the time,
I will never have the breath
To exhale my endless thoughts
To assuage my searching mind,
And will come at last to death
Scrawling madly still. Be caught
Startled to have lost the light.
– s. Clark
Shigé Clark Writing 