death steadies the hand,
given that life cares so little for it:
oh care i for you, to turn a smile
into a jagged frame for a jawline
that i might nibble on,
in a full caress,
    of a sunset...
and that it might  be, mine...
  that alone, would leave me elevated
above the mortal  mourning of said:
and encompassed "future":
for there be a breath
in death we all have to breathe...
and in epitaph entomb
ourselves as serving a purprose!
of a land beyond one's own:
mindful of the thistle -
prime colour purple...
   and the last remianing claim
to light...
           might be said of worth of
compensation due sacrifice?
thus the thistle, in purple bishop-bound
gown... the last house of scotland found...
are these the days of surrogate champions...
to market the hopes and lost hereos of
trojan acts!
                   no sooth, nor claim,
no name, nor flower,
     no shakespeare's worth
of citation, no boundary,
                              no given name,
let him abide by in death unto his eternal
rest: abdiding within the confines
of an unnamed grave...
                  settle no for, nor prior to,
nor invitating within said dates:
   to be either named duncan, macbeth,
or the willing wallace...
may the grave reside sacred: silent...
      and full of testimonial opaque of peace,
as is its historical due.