Blunt Edges: A short poem

I'm not right because I'm right, 
but because you think I am. 
I exist within the minds of men,
than in my temporal clam.

I am those words of mine that ring,
in your ears when I'm long gone.
I am the welling of your throat,
when my loss you bemoan.

Far more than plaques, than shirts than scarves,
far more than personal effects;
In your view of my actions, words,
In them, do I, reside.

When I am gone, all of me too,
is gone with the wind or sea.
All that remains of me is stuff,
that you ingrain in thee.