From The Ashes Poem by Zander William Pearson

Black soil engulfs
the shine of his skin.
His moans for help are weak,
though undeterred.

Stumbling forward, back
the blinding sun watching
guiltily.

It could have been him.
Or them. He didn't know.
Who did he die for?
Selfishness or Selflessness?

Neither did him well.

His hand brushes the
dirt and soot from his eyes
and cheeks,

And brushes the
tears from his eyes,
and cheeks.

He returns to the grave,
where he rose,
valiant over Death,
victorious over Fate.

Standing over,
he looks down
into the broken coffin

He laid back down.
Closed his eyes.

And called for Death
to come once more.