You may say
Life is of no consequence
So many have lived
Neglected by a poets eloquence
Faceless by any name
And yet they lived and died
Passionate, loved, a friend
Upon marshy sod, their children cried
For they would remember
Love squinting to see
Memories bending time as echoes
Shimmering like the moon on the sea
He wanted her to live with him
But only from afar
A demented madman of love
Could only speak by star
And another, who would only prevail
Upon lust each and every night
But love, in its exhaustion
Was left longing in his sight
Yet still, laughter, a fiddle or a lute
These things were made by honor
To live, by mistake or luck
But to not care, there is no greater horror