Crime

Is to borrow a quote from a hero plagiarism or is it in honor of his memory Is to but recite the intelligence of a general man forgotten to forever etch it in history Is it a crime? Is to possess a piece of enlightenment, a great idea from the complex mind of a wondrous artist Pick it apart bit by bit and construct a brilliant creation of one’s very own While still bearing the smile of great gratitude and inspiration Knowing one’s most idolized hero aided in making them rise in parallel fame To be the framed adjacent picture sitting opposite theirs in steady agreeable, admirable reflection Is it a crime? Is it a crime? Is to retype the words once etched from a man who lost his voice to the integrity of old age Is a satisfaction earned from seeing one so ill-fated due to punishment For glorifying the very same words said by the teacher Said by the professor who hadn’t need to utter a single word To allow his pupil to chase after a worthy dream, to follow his strong, stable footsteps Is it a crime; is it a crime? If it is, then I will have committed nine this day in honor of Shakespeare If it is, then I will have committed nine in gratitude And if it is, then come Come and whisk me away from the place where I rest my head “The world is but a stage We, men and women, are merely players putting on a show to draw out the reactions When we all finally take our bows See, we all have our entrances and exits Many of us playing many roles over seven ages And here is life, our walking shadow and poor player Who shines with confidence yet lashes out with worry When it is his hour in the spotlight upon the stage And then vanishes as a thief in the night And vanishes, the darkness of the sky in the dark waking up to a sea of bold, beautiful turquoise blue A tale repeatedly rephrased by an ignorant fool Told with fascinating imagery and emotion but still signifying what lies in a broken man’s heart Nothing…nothing is but everything in this world The wheel has come full circle for not to know the age old warning Love all, trust only a handful, do no wrong to none For even if one pricks our sensitive touched skin, do we not bleed? For even if one presses upon seeing a smile brace our lips from a gentle, yet fierce tickle Do we not laugh? If one has the courage and anger enough to poison, do we not shatter and die? And if one should ungratefully wrong us, do not we not have just cause to revenge? Better we acknowledge truth three hours too soon Or bathe in the mistakes of finding it out a minute too late To twixt we then find ourselves building fire with snow To say we would quench the flames of love in our words But if music is the food to provide our love, then let it play For an absence from those we love is self from self a fatal banishment” And in love I say, “Come Come; find me then; for I have committed nine crimes Nine crimes of borrowed quotes from a favored hero to honor his fated grateful memory And if I should be condemned for it Then I shall take the scaffold like a man, not a saint For I am me, to be me is to be free I have no regrets Just a smile upon my face for great gratitude and inspiration Knowing my most idolized hero aided in making my rise in parallel fame To be the framed adjacent picture sitting opposite theirs in steady agreeable, admirable reflection