Humanity's Story - Part 1

There was a man from the city of Sin
Who came to realize the mess he was in.
The streets were covered in mud,
And the people in dirt.
You were nobody's bud
And constantly hurt.

This man often tripped, and fill in the mire.
Evidence of this was on his attire.
He was not strange
Though caked with infection
For men within range
Shared this reflection.

Nay, the clean men were the people of scorn,
For they made the citizens appear so forlorn.
This man was jealous
Of the state they were in.
For how could they be zealous
In the city of Sin?

Though these people were the object of contempt,
They made this man we wish that he wasn't unkempt.
But who could he find
In this corrupt place
To settle his mind
And wash his disgrace?

This burden, so heavy, drove him down to his knees
And caused him to cry, but none heard his pleas.
He was sick of the clay
That was stuck to his face.
He was sick of the way
That he lived in disgrace.

There he was, a miserable sight -
A man who could not live by his own might.
A water streak
Formed by tear
Would run down his cheek
Then disappear.

"Help him! Someone help him!" I can hear you cry,
But is this man not a picture of you and I?
Fear not, for he
Though covered in shame
Will be freed from the city
By an omnipotent name.