I hold no breath, yet whisper tales, Of kings and beggars, time prevails. I stand in rows, yet do not speak, A silent choir, the strong and weak. I mark the end, yet memories grow, Beneath my watch, both friend and foe.

I am related to mt. rushmore, but I am not rocky. People often fill jars with me.

I sleep in tales both old and grand, With hoarded gold and scorched-out land. A whisper wakes me, wings take flight... I breathe in fear, and blaze the night.

I can hurl things, but I cannot launch a ninety kg over three hundred meters. You might see me in a battlefield.

I never die, but I remember those that do. You can only become me, if your heart is true. You cannot choose to be me, it’s others who decide. Some may not take heed of me, but greatness is what I hide.