Nobility or The man who was once revered

I watch the sunrays
midway through the climb dim,
like my influence fading away
the enthusiasm once saw
nothing but the summit, now
fancies the depths of these valleys.

Worshipped I was for these hands
that sculpted time, moulded it into poetry
of rock, creating a visage of hypocrisy,
Yet it was garnered for its melancholy and now
so little it seems to me the sacrifice, to
wind back the clock. For

there must be some nobility, in the death
of a man once revered immensely
now lying below his own effigy,
for some recognition by some bystander
to raise him up and praise him to
bring him back to life.