Men have always died. In dying they take nothing,

Men have always died. In dying they take nothing, so it was a man gives, what he leaves behind that defines him, each man building upon his predecessors legacy. Long forgotten ancestors left us an identity, a name. In taking a name Forefathers pass on lands and property. The men of this era are no different, in being given wealth and lands they ought to aspire and build, leave behind a world, a better one.

The beautiful among us do not have it wasted upon their faces, to be fed upon by lustful eyes, to be faded by the ravaged of time and age. They impart theirs differently,weaving it within their words and actions to enrich minds and hearts,to which time the great destroyer of feebleness,  is compelled to aid its greatness through memory.

Men have always died. In dying they take nothing, so it was a man gives, what he leaves behind that defines him, each man building upon his predecessors legacy. Long forgotten ancestors left us an identity, a name. In taking a name Forefathers pass on lands and property.the men of this era are no different. In being given wealth and lands they ought to aspire and build, leave behind a world, a better one.

If they raise buildings and statues in his memory, a man is deemed great. A far greater act however that honours a man’s legacy, is not the raising of buildings or statues, but often overlooked is instead it is the raising of beings, children who are bestowed with his name. A living legacy, raised properly their good thoughts and actions not only serve to honour his memory but add to it as well, unlike arts and architecture who merely testify to it.

To write is to achieve immortality, for words are unlike flesh are not ravaged by time, unchained from the bonds of time and location. In writing a man may speak across the centuries, across continents. He frees himself from this world, by ensuring that something is left behind.

It is a fool who seeks to build a monument for the greatest of his ancestors, for all he had to do was witness his own reflection, he was their greatest memory, a living one. He bore their likeness in a way no statue or painting ever would, carried their legacy within his own veins. His every action in good faith would testify to their magnificence that no historical account could quantify.