The Fallen Man

The fallen Man
Becoming one with the dirt

Soiled Hands,
Soiled Hair,
Soiled Pants,
Soiled Shirt.

The fallen man
Yearning to rise,
He’d been lying too long
Murmuring quiet songs
Watching the sun rise
Day after new day.
Time passes him by
Poor fallen man
The grass grows tall
All around him,
Along with floral blooms
His aching body
Baked by sun at high noon
Dreaming of the past
Letting it sooth his soul
Not letting despair win
Or simple apathy set in
For one day he knew
He could walk again;
Carry himself off of the dirt
Cleansing his

Soiled Hands,
Soiled Hair,
Soiled Pants,
And soiled Shirt.

Today,
He is the fallen man
Tomorrow,
He would have a new plan
A tiny glimmer of hope
Taking the form of
A quiet song
For he knew the dirt
Was not where he belonged
When the morning sun comes
He would again,
Try to stand.
The undying courage
Of the fallen man.