A legacy forgotten

Consider my grave your resting place too, An empathetic soul who rests here. Worry not poet, it haunts no more, Covered with maggots, I've rotted here for a while. These sockets are now emptied, I see nothing to judge. With my brains swallowed, I am no critique. Only bones adorning dirt and bugs. Justitia, you can call me. Lend me your ears and I'll spit the truth. They cherished me when lived, Now left in a churchyard to rot and suffocate. Did I not serve them well? Recall the fights I fought, for our pride poet. Yet, lie here, with mates, died in my lap. Never craved for this grave, But a life, unafraid. Early, wasn't it? My beard never turned grey, in fact. Celebrate my story, in a poem in your next birth.