Ill

Should one speak ill of the dead
And elucidate their chronicle
With the minutiae of the crimes before humanity
And with negativity on the poles of history
Swing history into the dark heart of the earth
With its swank and swagger
As its tumultuous core of bubbles and pustules
Of vices, of frailties and idiosyncrasies
That makes our nature

I suggest it better my friend to
Take that distance
Where blemish and colly
Are no longer discerned
And in abstraction appraise
The total worth
Without the quantum bounds
Within the aggregated sum
To see the net outcome of good and bad