What lies beneath the myriad strands, of glory, of radiance,
of fame, of brilliance?
What human remains on its penultimate heave, on its waning
belief, momentously bereaved?
What Pantheons built in gleaming eyes, in glittering minds,
on splendid grounds, hide?
Grandeurs of my obituary enshrined in a valedictorian stone,
carved, and sequined.
Hymns and chants of eminence, vanguard catatonic minds
through the lanky air.
Men wallow in grief; men cry in glee, men yelp in herds of
mindless in resonance.
But what lies beneath the pageantry of anguish, beneath the
lustrous sorrow,
beneath the fame and valor, beneath the distinction and
honor?
Some bones, some dust, some death and lore; a heart, a relic
deplore,
There is life in the shadow of martyrdom, in the blinds of posthumous
wisdom.
There is soul within a hollow design, within a clockwork
benign.
Yet the inanimate be venerated, revered in infirmaries
adulated.
Mere cadavers commemorated…
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