Though tears have been cried

Hope has died

No one cares

In the very end

Once it's all said and done

A hundred years from now

It won't matter to anyone

How big of a show you put on

The look on your face

Your walk studded with grace

You descent to living hell

Your murderous rage

Who will there be to care?

Fifty, one hundred, two hundred years from now?

Certainly not you or I

Or him, not her

Nor even that soul with the watchful eye

As my poems scarcely rhyme

My strut has no swagger

Nothing shall be left behind by me

For anyone to remember