Greatness Is Perhaps the Saddest Thing

Greatness is perhaps the saddest thing, for once it passes- and it always does- we are left with silence.
The trees no longer quiver. The birds no longer wail. And the godlike voice inside the head is mute, is dead.

We are museums, long ignored by the general public,
And though our monuments stand tall, the names, the honour, are dismissed by each who passes by,
And though each brush stroke across the face of history is feverishly done, not one glance is given in admiration.

We bleed bitter tears to know that what we believed to be of importance is just another fading moment, a sigh, the hush of a dusty book in the farthest crevice of an abandoned attic-
The finale to an unattended premier of our grandest symphonies-
And, inevitably, our spiraling into the lives of everyday animals.