Loud, brash, insecure they
Roam the ways, their super
Bass boom boxes rattling
Open windows at the back of
Gaudy vans. They remind
Me of an old worn bumper
Sticker I saw pasted on a
Fairly shabby Chevy coupe:
“I don’t need a Porsche—I
Can still get it up.” If we can
Be so perceptive about the
Primitive motives of a druggie
Parading his claimed assets
On the street, why then are so
Many so blind of the rich
And infamous? Who needs
To remake the world to reflect
Their idea of heaven? Hearst
Had his San Simeon, Ford his
Greenfield Village, the Rockefellers
Rebuilt Williamsburg, Louis
Had Versailles, Vanderbilt his
Biltmore. And these are deemed
Treasures not follies—homes
For art once egos have passed.
Like the cathedral builders who
Desired to praise God but to
Praise Him better than the
Burghers down the road, they
Build memorial sarcophagi
Like Pharoahs who would live
Eternally in unending glory.
Temporality is insufficient—
Dominating one age is not
Enough—they must scourge
All time to follow, unaware
Ozymandias has already warned
All future tyrants to beware.
Not a one of these grew so much
As an inch taller by their wish.
Not one escaped their appointed
Departure. Whatever the height
Of his marble obelisk, John D.
Lies as dead beneath as the peons
About him who lay under
Humbler granite labels--all of
Them granted not one step
Above those dumped unknown
But for the coroner’s toe-tag.
However soundly preserved
They all rot, consumed by the
Vermin of earth or by the
Vultures of the sky—recycled.
So tread lightly on your path
Knowing that many have trod
There before, their footsteps
Long since ground away. Even
The echoes of Nero’s proudest
Boasts have all gone silenced.
What is remembrance by those
Who themselves will die?
c. J.S.Manista, 2016
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