The Fallen
8-17-06

Every human, all mortal men,
Are born with that known as a Spirit Stone.
Chained to your heart is this colored gem,
Until you see what Death shall show.
Whole in life, and shattered in death,
It first traps your soul then releases.
A spirit phenomenon when man draws his last breath
The gloss of the Spirit Stone ceases.
So is there an in between? Another existence?
Could a cracked Spirit Stone come to be?
Here you’ll find the path of the most resistance,
The realm between life and death that binds me.
Most Spirit Stones are of one of three colors.
Green, orange, or purple, but naught else.
These people—all normal—can’t know our troubles.
They’ll only live and die, themselves.
But there are other colors, though rare and concealed;
Black, white, yellow, red, and blue.
When a man of these colors’ death is sealed
By murder, a nightmare comes true.
The price of the murder they did not commit
In the Fallen realm becomes theirs to pay.
Between life and death, for decades they sit
Wishing freedom, if they could but find a way.
Fifty years ago, dark and solemn Black,
Came to the Fallen—a man we call Van.
The longest Fallen, he’s seen farthest back,
Yet even he knows not when all this began.
Mere seconds later, Van’s Spirit Twin,
Sebastian, our scholar, the gentlest of all,
Was sent to this realm where he entered in.
But even now, Blue’s hope remains strong.
Then fifteen years past, a truly tragic event,
Our Yellow giant Maxwell fell away.
His wife and two children were not, as he, sent,
And he mourns them to this very day.
Seven years after that, Red joined the team,
Only to irritate them as much as he could.
He’s well intentioned, but Yuri can be
More narcissistic than he really should.
And not long ago, the last in an alley fell.
Not even yet twenty, the White gem has he,
And though still in shock, James understands well.
I know this for a fact… for that man is me.
Sometimes I just sit and think on what I’ve been told.
Have I in fact lost my immortal soul?
For living death bitterly given up my control?
Or is it that I am, in my brokenness… whole.

---

I realize this makes absolutely no sense. In my defense, I was tired when I did it and it'd been so long since I'd written any poetry that I practically sat down and forced myself to write (which never works out very well). It's based off of my comic or story idea (see, I've done nothing with it, I haven't even decided whether it'd be a comic or a story!), "The Fallen," where basically there are these five guys stuck between life and death and they are trying to find a way to break the curse of the Fallen. Something similar to the last four lines popped into my head one night but I forgot them by the time I got home, so even those aren't as good as I originally had. I was trying to make a poem from the idea in those lines, but I'd been thinking about the Fallen, so that's what insanity popped out instead. Please don't take too long trying to interpret it.

Back