I see a man affixed with robotic hands. He had probably lost his original ones and had been given that of a machine to aid ad his arms.
First, i feel pity for him, losing a pair of oneself cannot be easily replaced. That feeling of having what does not belong to you as of result of having lost yours is hurting.
Flesh! All flesh,
That is what the man should feel,
And soft to the hard bone,
It cushions the rigidness of the strong.
Nothing is complete,
Except it be filled,
By that which is meant to fill it,
And makes any other stay solo.
When man mates with iron,
And cables run alongside blood,
It makes the man-chine,
As the "man" without the "n",
Make the machine.
Though strong the arms may feel,
And capable they may appear,
They can't hold together the heart,
Or press down the troubled mind.
Oh what a feeling,
When the red sap of life meets with iron,
Not found in it iron,
And life is found in the arms,
Not armed by her nature.
This is the birth of invention,
When man mate with machine.