This work is a meditation on vanity and historical theft on those who inherit applause without earning the echo. The poem condemns a familiar figure: one who engraves his name upon labor not his own, claiming immortality through proximity rather than creation.

Written in an old world voice, the piece reflects the quiet truth history often obscures: that the loudest names are not always the strongest hands. What endures is not the inscription, but the work left unnamed.

This piece belongs to a larger collection examining power, legacy, and the moral weight of authorship.