Man

The cadence of his voice is the rustling wind,
Soles interlock with the ground beneath,
Smearing sweat on his brow, is rain,
The ambiance, his whole being.
The sun-drawn amber in his heart,
Would burn until the judgment day.
Wind, water, fire and earth,
A lattice pristine ,will he remain.
They move, he moves,
They change, so does he.
They perish, so will he,
"Man", as simple as he should be,
Is the brainchild of nature,
An intricate wonder,
A miracle so ordinary.

~ shane ~