Of Not Communicating One's Glory

One has some glory—brutal and rough, a kind of encounter
Fame is not pursuant

The splendid enterprise, peerage, and trench—
Let us consider that flourish

I had a friend who gloried, this seemed invisible to some
He broke apart his face, he promoted

"That was abandoning reputation to cover up shame"
As evening borrows its tickle from sun

And from retrospect, with alarm
"I don't know anyone has got clean rid of it"