Great Men Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Tattered strangers, roaming through night's long chambers.
Forging slumber from their tired minds and bodies, sewn from under
goblet's tables.
Tantalizing strings of melancholy fill their ears with it's eerie
melody.
Striving to overcome the distance felt between them, stepping lightly
as popcorn through thoughts of once great men.
Looking at stones marking graves of long dead bones, knowing that all
brains of great men have since turned to dust.
Leaving fine particles on the ground, there is no longer any thought
coming from them.
Great thoughts, like great men,
turn to dust once life has ended.