The Praise of Many

In youth-hood I learned,
Through multitudinous phrase,
Of the eminence I’d carry,
Until the end of my days.

My triumphs, my missteps,
Each leered at, critiqued,
But a spectacle to many,
Who deemed me unique.

Much as fires rage on,
Growing wild when fuelled,
My mind forged an image,
Of a child bejewelled.

When I weathered with time,
As all must become,
Their adoration faltered,
And soon it was none.

Left behind was an image,
Of a child so bright,
Now a lost adolescent,
Braving the night.

For my light was their praise,
And their hope my escort,
I held no sense of myself,
Save the renown I was taught.

When those same sightseers look,
I wish to ask what they see,
Be it a bygone or write-off,
I would only agree.

Did they think to themselves,
When laying fuel at my feet,
Smiths working tireless,
In the blistering heat.

Did they look to the future,
Or ponder desires unmet,
Where their reverent words,
Would become epithets.

Though they’ve likely forgotten,
Walls rose from their praise,
An enclosure to keep me,
Within an infinite maze.

Distant exits may snicker,
Are they ways out or ways in?
As I’m unlikely to learn – I sit
And ponder my sin.

Pondering lost potential,
And of life lived in decline,
But if I were built up to fail,
Is the fault truly mine?