Crime Poem by Andrus Cassian

Is to borrow a quote from a hero plagiarism or is it in honor of his memory
Is to but recite the intelligence of a general man forgotten to forever etch it in history
Is it a crime?
Is to possess a piece of enlightenment, a great idea from the complex mind of a wondrous artist
Pick it apart bit by bit and construct a brilliant creation of one’s very own
While still bearing the smile of great gratitude and inspiration
Knowing one’s most idolized hero aided in making them rise in parallel fame
To be the framed adjacent picture sitting opposite theirs in steady agreeable, admirable reflection
Is it a crime? Is it a crime?
Is to retype the words once etched from a man who lost his voice to the integrity of old age
Is a satisfaction earned from seeing one so ill-fated due to punishment
For glorifying the very same words said by the teacher
Said by the professor who hadn’t need to utter a single word
To allow his pupil to chase after a worthy dream, to follow his strong, stable footsteps
Is it a crime; is it a crime?
If it is, then I will have committed nine this day in honor of Shakespeare
If it is, then I will have committed nine in gratitude
And if it is, then come
Come and whisk me away from the place where I rest my head
“The world is but a stage
We, men and women, are merely players putting on a show to draw out the reactions
When we all finally take our bows
See, we all have our entrances and exits
Many of us playing many roles over seven ages
And here is life, our walking shadow and poor player
Who shines with confidence yet lashes out with worry
When it is his hour in the spotlight upon the stage
And then vanishes as a thief in the night
And vanishes, the darkness of the sky in the dark waking up to a sea of bold, beautiful turquoise blue
A tale repeatedly rephrased by an ignorant fool
Told with fascinating imagery and emotion but still signifying what lies in a broken man’s heart
Nothing…nothing is but everything in this world
The wheel has come full circle for not to know the age old warning
Love all, trust only a handful, do no wrong to none
For even if one pricks our sensitive touched skin, do we not bleed?
For even if one presses upon seeing a smile brace our lips from a gentle, yet fierce tickle
Do we not laugh?
If one has the courage and anger enough to poison, do we not shatter and die?
And if one should ungratefully wrong us, do not we not have just cause to revenge?
Better we acknowledge truth three hours too soon
Or bathe in the mistakes of finding it out a minute too late
To twixt we then find ourselves building fire with snow
To say we would quench the flames of love in our words
But if music is the food to provide our love, then let it play
For an absence from those we love is self from self a fatal banishment”
And in love I say, “Come
Come; find me then; for I have committed nine crimes
Nine crimes of borrowed quotes from a favored hero to honor his fated grateful memory
And if I should be condemned for it
Then I shall take the scaffold like a man, not a saint
For I am me, to be me is to be free
I have no regrets
Just a smile upon my face for great gratitude and inspiration
Knowing my most idolized hero aided in making my rise in parallel fame
To be the framed adjacent picture sitting opposite theirs in steady agreeable, admirable reflection