Qualities of a Name

a dictator mourns himself

Oh, how the tyrant mourns his name;

Trampled on and poisoned by secret tongues,

Smeared in clandestine rooms, in echoing hallways,

But his name has grown strong

And cannot be shattered by such cruelty.

It has shed its porcelain translucence

And adopted the strength of iron.

Strength, though, is often brittle;

Even iron can rust away,

And there has been so much rain.

His name, unchained but not free.

He may shed it and run away,

Or he may proudly wear it.

And so he does, like a crown,

Up until his day of execution.

How his name covers his corpse

Inside his unmarked grave

Like a shroud for the noble dead.

Author's Note

Please honestly tell me what you think