A single fleck of dust
it rests
upon a broken brick.
Insignificant, it doesnt notice,
never noticed.
Who would care to bother with
one of millions
billions even?
Disturbance, a shoulder brushes
against the wall
knocks our speck away.
It falls slowly
still ignored,
a languid journey.
The shoulder presses further
against the cold wall.
Its owner, a cloaked and hooded man.
He speaks a single word,
Please.
His oppressors push on
hardly listening
hardly caring.
A firm hand reaches for him
through the dark of night.
One grabs his sleeve, pulls hard.
The black cloak slips
from his slender body,
falls in a tidal wave of silken fabric.
Underneath, the mans only secret;
he is not man
but more than man.
An angels wings unfold
in a single moment,
the longest moment ever witnessed.
Indeed witnessed, by a woman
hurrying somewhere she hardly looks,
ignoring the battle of ancients
seeing only what she wishes to see.
The white glory flaps strongly
against the mans vicious enemies.
They are many.
He is one.
For now, his foes shall drink success
while he dines only on the scraps of defeat.
Him, who could have been saved,
if one human had cared to bother.
A futile hope, alas,
for a mortal human being.
Even upon death, wrapped in the sealed coffins,
they can tribute nothing to the earth.
The earth, form which they were made.
Our bit of dust is lifted proudly
by a gust of wind from precious wings.
And the fleck of dust thinks nothing.
