IconElegies

I died on the way to my father's funeral, which became mine. The giant was dead. I am best remembered for drinking a hundred beers at once, but then,  I was a giant. But even a giant's heart gets tired. A Poet's Note. Andre the Giant, actually André René Roussimoff, was a French show wrestler known for his exceptionally large size.

I was Manolete. Braver than any of the other matadors. I brought death closer than anyone else. I didn't like attention, not anything extra. I was a hero of the spaniards, until my last fight came, and even after that. I left my fate to death, that time it won in the form of a bull. I had already won love, that was enough to me but my love was not allowed to say goodbye. Poet´s note. Manolete was spanish matador who died at the arena 1947. 

You were born poor. You probably also died poor. God gave you a gift. You knew how to play football. You were a hero to millions, a church was founded for you, women worshipped you, and men envied you, when you were young and a god. Then you were a spitting image to millions. Fat, drug addict, unpredictable. That's what an athlete's life is like as a living god. No one expected you to live to be old. That's what booze and drugs do. You numbed your heart and soul with them. You didn't die forgotten, but we don't know about statues to you.