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You thought that I'd died. Ha! The jokeís on you.
Iím keeping every posthumous honor,
and we will both just have to live with it.

You would have denied me, my whole life long,
notoriety and recognition
that you knew that I so richly deserved.

It was your mistake. I never faked death,
but once the rumor started, I kept still,
vanished from view, laughing like Lazarus.

I grinned while reading your mournful regrets
of the passing of an unsung genius Ė
the likes of which the world wonít see again.

Itís too late now. Fame's my fickle mistress,
and, should she try to leave me, Iíll come back.

The quickest way for me to learn something new is to first understand why I'd like to learn it.

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The following comments are for "Better Thought Late Than Never"
by poeteye

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