The Vanishing Nature Of Honour Poem by Adams King

I know that which Rachel's encounter
Journeying from Bethel to Ephrath
Will I a gift to my people bring
In pains and die like a hunted bird

I know what the truth has inflicted
Wasn't for the Sam show of kindness
Abel the sheep keeper was slain

I'm no Christ
To bare a cross meant for multitude
and put on a crown of thorns
to save men of ingratitude

I'm no Moses
To carry the burden of many
through wilderness and through seas
still to be gossiped and blamed

Who to the promise place save his people
to where he was not saved

I have seen great men of the world
Who sacrificed their all for their motherland
Remembered with drops untruthful tears

I have seen names
been shouted and praised while alive
But as they took a step above life
Their names vanished like candle plumes

They sacrificed all
but turns out to be all for none

Haven't the names of their dead loved ones
run away from the voice of their lips
Haven't even their memories
Evacuate their knowledge

Men gives to the night what the day brings
Attending tomorrow like yesterday was never

A little roll back to the pages of yesterday
There where men with godlike heart breath
Men of integrity, noble compatriots

Countless are their names
Whom only records showed some gratitude
Wise pen on the pages of greatness

What's honour written on a storybook
What's honour known by the past alone

Do a hero die with the honour he beget
Or does his glory perish just as his bones
Must his face be seen to be remembered
Or must man live forever not to be forgotten

Glorious deeds are forever to be celebrated
Inscribed on the hearts and lips
of every coming generations
Not only for the stories of poet to tell

Let's not forget those
Who once fought for this soil to stand
Men who fought
For our race and tribe to remain

I know my people's heart
Are like the seasons itself
Forgetting the harsh cold
When it's no longer snowy

When Goliath is no more
Who is David to be recalled upon
They say

So, why will i my life sacrifice
When men who once did
Were abandoned and never remembered

Men whose sacrificial show of greatness
I know no deed to measure up with

Honour and glory are like the beauty of men
Diminishing with his rising age
and slowly fades to be reborn into another

To honour and glory my people say
Let the past go with the past
Then I knew no memories ever last

Should the dead speak for themselves
Or should honour take her harp play skillfully
Sing many songs round the streets
to be remembered
Like the forgotten harlot in Isaiah's book.