There was once a man preaching his gospel.

Crowds gathered around his soapbox.
Tales of his hardships and sacrifice,
his rise to the apex, and fall to the dust
surged throughout the village
all the way to the ears of a boy.

Nothing before had touched the boy
as deeply, as did this gospel.
He searched around the village
looking for the man on the soapbox
All his leads had turned to dust.
When years vanished, he realized his sacrifice.

He had not wished to sacrifice
and by now he, no longer a boy,
fell to the floor, and lay in the dust.
No longer did he believe that man’s gospel.
Broken, he rose onto the soapbox
and turned to the village.

Now speaking in front of the village,
he shared the story of his sacrifice.
Speaking of the man on the soapbox,
How he searched for that man, as a boy.
Most importantly though, how that gospel
left him wallowing in the dust.

And how it was from that dust
he rose before the village
and was able to preach his gospel.
Nobody had to make a sacrifice.
He wanted to make sure no boy
would go looking for this man on a soapbox.

He dismounted his soapbox
and stepped down onto the dust.
Looking up at the people he saw a boy
he had never seen in the village.
The boy’s eyes said sacrifice,
but his heart spoke true to the new gospel.

Gospel had been spoken before, on that soapbox;
“Sacrifice is necessary, to rise from dust.”
The village instilled that, in the mind of this boy.