[ WP ] The sky ripped open , and through it fell a book .

He used his stick to wade, as the murky water swallowed the residues of trade 
 
 The skins they peeled and the cloth they tore, the shadows of luxuries that they refused to store 
 
 They knew not of him, the man who lived under, the mole and rat who gnawed at his blunder 
 
 When men of importance walked over him, he tipped his hat to the societal cream 
 
 He noted their talks of apparent highbrow, he yearned for his sky to bloom into blue and seamlessly grow 
 
 He wished to talk proper, form opinions well-read, he wished the sickly wife at home, with pink cheeks, plump and well fed. 
 
 Each morning began with the rain of discarding, the stench on rise, the grime hardening 
 
 Today as the sky parted at dawn, a heavy thud echoed on the mossy lawn 
 
 His stick hit the joy just landed, his fingers tracing the print on the delicate page, 
 
 He gurgled as he tried to produce the melody of the tools of the sage, 
 
 With each word, he visioned an image, 
 With each sentence, an animation, 
 With each page, a story unfolded, the image into animation, the expression loaded 
 
 Shirking his duties of burying the evidence of want, 
 
 The sewer man, strengthened in the world of words, settled inside the drain walls, wiry and gaunt 
 
 When the careless man of wealth threw a book into the trash, without a care, without a look 
 
 The morning brightened as the lid sized sky ripped open, and through it fell a book 
 
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