Ages end

Ages end

Biographers lie

Truth is lost

Batons are dropped

Nobody passes them on

Without altering their progress

Hand over hand.

There are no messages

Without a messenger

Interpretation is an art form

Few will master

Without rendering themselves

Part of the composition.

Even in absence

The artist leaves a mark

Staking a claim

For the naming rights.

It’s a sign of the times

Nobody wants to be remembered

As a blot on the landscape

An unknown soldier

A footnote