Buyunde Acura Sylivester
Solitude of Fame
Through thick, thin and hards,
Thine was the strong will to revive,
In the long tunnel of goods and bads,
Wishing a trumpet of revelation could arrive.
Clocks ticking in unison,
To thee, sounds like psalm of life,
And like eleventh hour cock tintinabulation,
Is marking the time of denial and strife.
Holding back thy breath,
On cross. With veneration of the saints,
Calm! Gazing at this sacred wealth,
None was purchased via cents.
Don't please! Jesus don't leave!
Ere I tell thou the ultimate sorrow,
Left behind in a strengthful heave,
Of the final hour of a hero.
Thine hast been Holly Gospel 'n' fasts,
Trophying this massive nation smiles of triumph,
Preaching and healing to the last,
Of the wholly human 'Kulturkamph.
Redemption, salvation for free,
Just after thy solitude of fame,
When you'll build temple in three,
Days. Together we praise your name.
And here you fly. Taken in prayers,
That go where the eternity begin,
Sit on the topmost layers,
Of Heavens, forever and again.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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