Taunted Poem by Soren Valentine

Save him, save him!
He cries out for help.
He wars with One,
one who is he and yet is not.
He has fallen;
in his darkest hour he strikes him.
With thorns he has stabbed him.
Yet he makes no effort it seems.
He dabbles back and forth,
never staying for long.

He knows that must change.
He knows it will.
But that time seems to be taunting him,
haunting him...
It reaches out to him with an outstretched hand.
And as he draws closer,
it runs out on the road.
O miserable taunted one!