When they live they are hailed,
when they die they are worshipped,
emperors of old toss and turn in envy,
fears of mortality pester their dull selective brains,
vain, how vain the hopes of legacy?
Always eating yet never full.
Should we taste the sin of pride
we are then on good terms with that deceiver,
the liquid is cast into iron and our chains forged,
I call out, in a sudden primitive frenzy that cannot be suppressed,
in a raised voice, atop no mount, but footed on a mound of earth,
to whatever life, in its tempo, whether anyone begs to listen or not…..
”Let those who have wisdom, and a heart not hardened be content with a cup
never to be full, live contented in a garb well-worn without pretense”
My lungs emptied, the swell fades, a verse of blackbird song….
a weathered face turns in the crowd, searching, with eager eyes.