Forget Me - Not

When my breathless body returns to the earth from which it came, Let it be known that I tried, In the face of damnation, With the manacles of propriety digging deep into my flesh, And the corpulent greed of the contumacious seeping from every open door, Let them say that I tried, Inside this strident existence that we call our own, Where the fastidious prey on the guileless, I just wanted to be a luminous beacon of intransigent truth, A munificent solace for those In need, I just wanted one zealous moment to make a difference, And as the remnants of me powder and dust into the soil in which I lie, Let at least one person say that my life was worthwhile, That my existence was heuristic, Because if I am to become just another sorry loss, An echoed memory only deserving of a sorrowful after thought, Then what was it all worth, And more so, Why then would anyone else bother. Because if we cannot make a difference, Then I would rather not be remembered at all.