Resistance
Hanging there, limp but clenched,
Muscles still inexplicably tensed,
To whom did the hand once belong,
Still remaining defiant and strong,
A mere piece of a person once there,
With the spirit of the revolution's flare,
And what now of the rest of that precious soul,
Whose dismembered limbs were left in the coal,
Of the fires that swept through and set to ash,
All that now has been lost in a flash,
And yet here is a shard of the spirit still strong,
A lone hand with the flag to whom all belong.
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