Men could live though dead,
I guess you believe my tale.
Men could be kept sacred
If their work sing that tale.
Great men had entered into history
Through doors many dread,
And conquered the fear that many dare face.
They picked the challenges of uncommon labour,
And consistently made mark
By their constant walking
In the land of threats.
By their activities,they composed songs
on the stave of time,
Which are either admired or detested in
Their presence are
Welcomed with standing ovation
Compelled by admiration
Or propelled by indignation.
Their hand were fixed
With a fist that indent holes
On the rock
And wrist which wriggling
Had plod uncommon roads
They had by labor and act
Become precious treasures of history.
But here is the puzzle,
These treasures of history
Die with different moods.
Not all-great men die happy:
Some died sad and their glad days were forgotten.
Some died miserable
And their able moments
Left them helpless.
Some died lonely and their disciples abandon them.
Some died childless, from their homes
They were sent apart
But some died with the smile of accomplishment
They could see their labour
Like stars littered the firmament of life.
Their children by labour
Flank round their bed
They would fix their dream into the case
Just like baton
And give it to another loyal
Who had volunteered to bare their spirit?
And pursue their dreams.
Till they succeed once again.
Have you seen the death of a righteous great man?
I pray my day be like his.
Heaven rejoice though men shed love's tears
He gives a consoling by, by and by
With a smile which image
Shall forever remain real!
Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com
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