Just a Man

I’m not a great man.
Just a man.
Of flaws and shortcomings.
With little wisdom.
Or wit in any measure.
I’m just a man.
Working with a set.
Of limited tools.
And a sliver of an idea.
How to use them.
I’m not a great man.
Just a man.
Limping through the trenches.
Of a violent world.
Attempting to cope.
With the damages of youth.
The conditioning of culture.
Paying protection money.
To the hand on the sword.
That pretends to be my friend.
I’m not a great man.
Just a man.
With barely working eyes.
A mind muddled and fried.
Addled and punch drunk.
From the jabs and hooks.
Fired from my fellow slaves.
On the free range tax farm.
I try to learn.
From greater men than I.
Men that have used their tools.
With less limited skill.
To build them into better men.
Whose voices show.
The fences of the farm.
I’m just a man.
Yearning for great freedom.
Trembling under the weight.
Of his own damages.

Just a Man