Should I name him?
I could not know his name,
It did kindly know for me,
Veracity, agony and whim.
Yet not an objective truth to know of.
In the cold reality of the thereof
Only, the lost words of the sons
And the echoing woes of transgressions
For he had the privilege of surviving
For he could roam the eastern plains
For he could drink from the sea of salt
For he was carried by lyricism
For he had undeterred pride
Dutifully doing his penance
Paying his condolence
To the dying world
Dirt, dusk and mold
There he lived, the nameless man
In last days, before the plains of heavens
He gazed at the thrones of stone
Breathe of Ozymandias
At the rivers of flesh and blood
Sensuality of Thanatos
And, he heeded to the silence
Gaea had a finger to her lips
On the godly hand, earth came
Shaped, be it for love or pain
If fair, to the heavens all praise
If foul, to the hells alone the blame
And what man deemed himself not divine
And what man did not dream of wine
Gods gave a secret he could not spell
The world had no more, he kept it hidden well
Nameless, he climbed the groove of Sisyphus
Sloshing in the ponds of the sweat of his limbs
Faceless, he toppled with the boulder
From the crest of the mountain to Lethe
