|
By coujeaux Date: 2003 Mar 19 Comment on this Work [[2003.03.19.21.05.2832]] |
|
Even imagination of the viewing public was insufficient to hold her; a star born, No awards were high enough to honor her brilliance, lesser immortals forelorn. Journalists and paparazzi, dogged to know her secrets, digged by every means, Not even most persistent hounds could scoop any waste from behind her scenes. Adoration was her adornment, though she wore humility much like tattered robe, Cameras seemed to capture her magnificence as no other wonders of this globe. Public opinion shielded her from interrogations about her thoughts; ever demure, She said the right things, you know; world peace and hope for ways things were. As time moved forward she became consultant for products, legislation and coin, Politicians cursed each other in campaigns for her; religions begged of her to join. Through it all she never said much about who she really was; remaining quite coy, When her chroniclers failed in consensus about her quotations, she laughed in joy. Inevitably her power, real and imagined, was challenged; envy gave way to hate, An assassin determined she was unfit to grace us with her brilliance, lying in wait. From high atop building across from her motorcade, he insisted with a clean shot, And the collective disbelief that arose from what happened next none ever forgot. Not as blast of death passed through her cleanly, or how Charity Starr was saved, But at the spectacle of a gunman set ablaze from afar when she stood and waved. |