Thought Murder Poem by Timothy Long

mind the tears that others will not,
like a frog's last hop,
like a bomb time just pops,
never will anyone top,
a strange sensation to place,
sensing the name to the face,
why is there always a pace?
like trying to escape this space,
on a pedestal, we all want to be,
unfortunately, no one is special,
including you and I,
the American dream is a lie,
all people want is to fly,
a way the spirit says is to die,
allmen do is sigh,
making the women cry,
the fallen hero completes,
turning the achievements into feats,
of course, the flaw makes the name,
but downward spirals kill the fame,
knowing nothing will be the same,
leaving the tales and myths quite tame,
why is it such a shame?
you see most are kind,
not at all hard to find,
try not to weep,
do not cry,
for they are kind,
like of Hercules and Theseus,
it will not end well,
to thy selves they fell,
knowing of drilled actions then died,
leaving behind famous corpses to lie!