I am a man. I have the wants of a man. The urges of a man. The lusts of a man. I am flawed like one, hidden like one. I bleed like one, and I heal like one. I hold the clay of a man as my form, and the eyes of a man for my sight, and the ears of a man for my sound, and all that sense encompass.

But I am a man. I am not a mountain, that which can striketh the Earth with trembles upon my fall, nor am I the sky, that which holdeth itself in majesty without a pillar to its name. I am not an ocean; an endless black at night and welcoming blue in day. I do not swallow into unknown depths of heat like the sand and I break the skin of flesh not in glimmering sheen like ice.

However, I am a man. A man, and no more than a man. I am he who loveth and he who hateth. He who burneth in pain and he who shivereth in glory. In paths of life, I fall in pits where dirt disguises truth and truth reviles the heavens. But I am a man. I am he who may separateth the rain from the clouds with prayer. He who may erecteth the temples for the sacrilegious monks of vility.

I am a man. There is beauty within me. Beauty within that may rotteth in filth or sprouteth in glory. I may burn and I may die, with life, in her wisdom, solemnly handing my soul to death, in his wisdom, for judgments of men and for fates of men. I am a man. Lo, I am a man. Hark! I am a man. O, I am a man. A man, and nothing more.

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