How many songs wrote never known?
How many crescendos
lost to the echo
of merciless Fortune's squealing tired tire?
How many words?
silt beneath the oceanic span
between here and fame's centurion?
How long until god thrusts them into day?
to trace glibly along the interstate
for some passing child to stumble upon
How many bodies
removed of soul
Riddled with bullet and dirt of metal
sank deep into the earth and turned to worms
How many greats' fate
Do we forget in our mad scramble
and the many fateful decisions
And let Destiny
Guide their thoughts
to greater heights
Of how much
Have we lost sight?
— The End —