Might be I am false.
Living the sham life, pretending.
You feel it too.
Hiding behind all noticing only my voice.
Might be I am false.
Caring not, it seems, for none but me.
Within the unexamined self lies the unfulfilled self.
Abandon those I love, for that I am accused.
Might be I am false.
Death be my undoing, hath be my untimely end.
All that was once is no longer,
Nor will it ever be.
Lives and worlds rest in a young boys hands.
Might be I am false.
Racing the clock, racing the world.
Concerned with the papers I hold,
Oblivious to destruction around me.
My world be my work, they say,
He knows not better.
Might be I am false.
My time is ending, before my time.
And still I am accused of ignoring,
Accused of following an ignorant leader.
Black light surrounds me, white light hurls towards me.
Tell them for me, as my dying word,
Might be I am false.
****
Ron Weasley stood in the vacant graveyard, wind whipping around him, blowing hair into his eyes. Brushing back a tear he stared down at the tombstone, trying his fiercest to hold back the river of tears threatening to fall.
"We miss you," He whispered, "All of us. More then you ever thought, I'd bet. Goodbye, 'til my next visit."
Frowning, he gently touched the cold hard stone, turned on his heel, and walked away with out a glance back. There, behind his quickly retreating back stood the stone, and etched for all eternity was written:
Percy E. Weasley
Beloved Son, Brother, Husband, and Father
1976-1995
"Might be I am false"