Posthumous Papparazzi

After ruminating a time over the Richard III article mentioned by Stan over on the "PLAQUE 4: Specter covers up the Medical Evidence" thread, I ejaculated this about the parallels to the present case:


Posthumous Papparazzi

Five-hundred-thirty years have passed since Richard met his final day;
The roses all took a ruby cast and the Tudor hand held sway.
A resting place with his spouse or son was not sought nor found
The Kingly Corpse was spat upon and plopped in neutral ground.

The centuries passed and most forgot all but his alleged crime
That Tudor charged with a nod, and wink, saddled for all time.
Discovery met with fanfare wild, historians were paid their due,
Reinterment motions then were filed, courts took a dour view,
Nay-saying the dead man's historic role, their backs were to a wall,
And kicked him back in Leicester's hole lest he be revered at all.

What truth is there for them to fear? What meaning might be obtained
If Richard were returned to where his greater glories were gained?
Sad state for us this generation lost attempting to sort through lies
Truth seems to have a greater cost than the status quo realize.

Yet men today can measure his wounds, reenact his last moments of life,
And tell us everything but his thoughts before the mortal sword sliced.
Remains are all that remain of his dreams his legend was already tarnished
They pick and measure his bones, it seems all dignity remains banished
The papparazzi accrue their facts enlightening us at last,
Reminding us of gruesome acts in that period that have past.

Nearer to home another fell in a much more noble time
Another gruesome act to tell though the case bogged in the slime
Of governmental red tape and CYA; the case remains unsolved
Obscured by agents of the CIA and all manner of media slogs,

Posthumous papparazzi never got the chance to examine this dead man's bones
And history will never be enhanced by truth of this tragedy we have borne.
No autopsy for our fallen king, no attempt for the hurting heal,
Leaving us to ask a useless thing: what truths might be revealed?
And truth - 'tis true - is a fickle beast, one that bites the hand that feeds;
We wait for soul sturdy at least to venture where that truth might lead.

Very nice.

Bloody brilliant, Terry!

I hate to be reminded I have no talent.
Good stuff, Terry.

Paul McGurkenfarklein wrote:I hate to be reminded I have no talent.

I respectfully disagree, my brother. You have a talent for saying what needs to be said. You cut to the chase and get to the heart of a matter. You have wit and can be damn funny when you want to be.

Stan Dane wrote:

Paul McGurkenfarklein wrote:I hate to be reminded I have no talent.

I respectfully disagree, my brother. You have a talent for saying what needs to be said. You cut to the chase and get to the heart of a matter. You have wit and can be damn funny when you want to be.

I'll second that, Stan.

I have never heard anyone say a McGurkenfarklein had no talent. If the rest of the family is like Paul, they'd be a force to reckon with.

Besides, how can one become a musketeer with no talent, eh?

You are both too kind, brothers. Thank you.

Paul McGurkenfarklein wrote:You are both too kind, brothers. Thank you.

Paul, the 4 of you landing here just has to have written somewhere...