A lot been sung,
all sweet like honey
leaving all in trance
lifting each to the
starry heights.
A lot left unsung,
might have been sweeter
than honey
but buried in the
dustbins of the past.
As that Great poet
once mused,
'heard melodies are sweet
those unheard are
sweeter'.
No way escaping the
truth
the depressing truth.
Flourishing ones umpteen.
Equally true is the fate
of the unflourished lot,
evolving into manure for
the steep growth and fame
of the flourished lot.
Explanations
logics and justifications
galore.
True, the influential always survive
as they turn out to be
the fittest.
In every sphere of life
truth remains the same.
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