The Funeral

Time's travel swoons too fast,
Mortal's wings made of glass,
The subject willed for public gawk,
Oh, pallid pompous slumber's mock,
Viewing from embarking eyes,
Judging of what once, yet, now lies,
Dead now, though memory lives,
This resurrected visage intently gives,
Long pass faded light,
Gently lure into sight,
Tales of revel and wit,
How often they came and went,
Now, gentle reprieving eyes look down,
Who gaze upon for whom they thought was a clown,
O art thou amused,
And gallantly confused?
For in living, we are soon dead,
You fool, you lived for yourself instead. 

- John Hardesty(From Trice Told Tales)