His face was on the front page today,
the young face of the older man
as if to spare him some disgrace;
an inset photo in the middle section showed
exactly the too much duplicity
reaped what it sowed.
The cumulus cheeks mounting
at ambition's peak throbbed only
of the past, a future, so to speak,
built on people's sentiments - he
could do no wrong in any of his roles;
and was forecast to remain strong
in defiance of decrepitude,
the wily camera his dear accomplice;
the pre-arranged tendentious drama;
untouched by weather, flashing sabres, flying
bullets; the director's providence
stuffed down the viewers' gullets.
All he really had to do was live, and
that alas proved his Waterloo; yet, so
much was he held in awe and loved,
they talk of what he might have done, and
count it done: he never lost his flair:
a lie he lived, and in the end he won.