Someone once asked...

O, what strange and crooked paths doth fortune lay before the feet of mortal men! For man is but a traveler upon the stage of time, dressed in borrowed garments of joy and sorrow, and each day he speaketh words whose echoes may outlive his very breath. Love, that gentle tyrant, enters the heart without knocking, and once admitted, commandeth both reason and pride to kneel before it. Yet where love doth flourish, jealousy oft creepeth like a serpent beneath the roses, whispering poison into innocent ears and turning sweet promises into bitter accusations. Thus doth the ambitious soul climb toward glory, believing the crown to be a golden prize, only to discover that beneath its shining surface lie thorns sharper than any sword. For power is a fleeting shadow, and those who grasp it too tightly may find their hands stained with the blood of those they once called friends. Still, hope endureth, even when the heavens seem dark and the stars refuse to shine; for within the breast of every sorrowful man there remaineth a small and stubborn flame that no storm can wholly extinguish. Therefore, let not the heart surrender itself to despair, nor let fear become master of the mind, for tomorrow is a page yet unwritten, and destiny, though it may guide the pen, doth not always command the hand. Speak truth while thy tongue hath strength, love while thy heart hath warmth, forgive while forgiveness may yet mend what anger hath broken, and remember that every king shall one day lose his crown, every warrior shall lay down his sword, and every mortal shall return to dust. What remaineth, then, when wealth is gone, when glory hath faded, and when the applause of the world hath fallen silent? Only the deeds we have done, the hearts we have touched, and the love we have given freely without asking what reward it might bring. Such is the strange bargain of life: that we must lose all things in time, yet may still leave behind something greater than ourselves—a memory written not upon stone, but within the souls of those who knew us.

Someone answered with kindness...

Beautiful poem, but no question?