The Telling Of

 I heard a story the other day, telling of a man, simple in his ways.
This simple man never faltered to indecision he could not conquer.
He held stead fast to his honor, an unwavering eye to always ponder.

A fateful meeting of chance, left him beaten to die without comfort of life.
Trying to stand on shaky legs, bones  shattered, unable to support his weight.
Crawling upon bloody knees, pulling himself along the grime of the streets.
No one bothered to even try, nor noticed the tears in his eyes; fighting to breath through cracked ribs and grinding teeth.

He falls, tasting the spoiled earth, exhaling stale air of a dying world for the final time. There he lays in a pool of his own blood, clutching his fists, holding on to love.