He Broke the Face

He broke the face of many.
And what he found behind
Were axons clogged with mesh of things,
Hate for what they're made to sing,
Hate for others who dare more
And live the life they can’t afford.

He broke the heart of many.
And what he found within
Was nothing of a liquid feel,
But rather cold and stiff like steel.
And they did not return to dust,
But stood as towers, swayed by gusts.

Frantically, he touched his face,
Began to peel away.
Concurrently, mined through his chest,
Timid with each scrape,

And step by step in horror found,
As veins spewed out his worth,
That he was not an iron-fist,
Not Narcissus, no fame to wish,
That he had not offered himself
To others’ greed and others’ filth.

But sadly, what he found,
— As he gently fell below —
Was that he had been human
...that he had been his own....