Biopics have a way of making its subject larger than life.
It makes me wonder how much of the reality matches
the misty montages and sepia screen shots.
The chronicles of the beloved TV personality
somehow lull the mind into forgiveness of the
vices mentioned therein; whatever the poison might've been.
Married and divorced, and again, and again,
with infidelities and alcoholism casually tossed in.
Sons neglected, friends abandoned, and interviewees
continue to chime in- the late, the great, the entertainer,
the deep loss felt by a nation's brethren as one kin.
Larger than life, and alone at the end- the audience feels
pity but you know this story, less the soundtrack and money;
we know the house stands of cards of our own making.
Aspiring to greatness, and even achieving that lofty reign
doesn't forgive the betrayals and choices, each decision
down a path that led to your solitude, self imposed, exiled in fame.
14 May 2012
2210
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