Of

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Of those who declared in their testament grand,
“The casket’s for soulless—just burn,”
The ones we could never become took a stand,
Like a wall built of shoulders of stone.

Of those who could not see themselves in the glass,
For one of their eyes had gone blind,
Ever mute, they went forth to their silent demise—
Yet they went with a deafening cry.

Of those who stood proud, wanting power’s enthrall,
Now the remnants are dust withal.
In the ruins of old lie the relics of kings;
But of men, there were none, if at all.

Of those who still strived, in the darkness, afar,
Through the shadows, they longed for a light,
One remained, yet his soul bore a sorrowful scar,
And he drank himself into the night.

Of those who loved freedom, and sought it with fire,
Gave all for its sake, in denial,
They’re all slaves now; just one stood against the entire,
Yet he faltered, devoid of desire.

Of those who gave all, fought for love to prevail,
Standing ready to take on the world:
Half a billion found that their boat had long sailed;
“C’est la vie” echoed in from aboard

And of those who let go of the reins of control,
Lived their lives and were bound to be free.
Just a lonely old sage on a mountaintop ’s left,
Gray and weary—and yet, even he…