The glory of the latter house
Shall be greater
Than the glory of the former

I wage my war with dead men's bones
Their accomplishments
Their masterpieces
Stare at me in the mirror
Like
Put some clothes on

I wiggle into a vest
My teeth aren't as white as they used to
Neither is my vest
Yellow!
Everything is as yellow as the smile
Of the moon
Chock full on sun
I

Wage my war with dead men's bones
Across a multitude of avenues;
Poetry and Prose
Wondering if I write
Because I'm relevant
Or
Because I'm trying to be
Sifting through their ashes
Trying to find me
Piecing together the reflection
Bouncing off their words
I'm not okay with just
Creating worlds
No one goes to
So I do all the kind of research
I'm supposed to

And the war rages on
My greatest idols
Becoming
My greatest thorns
Then back and forth
Really just trying to pimp
My headstone
With,
The greatest of all time
Not there ever was
Nor there ever could be
Statements with could
Raise uncertainty
Statements with was
Are presumptuous
After all,

The glory of the latter house
Shall be greater
Than the glory of it all

Time is like a sheet of paper
One that gets to bear
All our signatures
And there
Are those among the many
That can't be overwritten
Cornered off their own little section
Forged their own kind of rhythm
Tap your finger when you hear them
Like what's this new thing I am feeling
Again and again and again
They bottled up forever
And poured it out upon us
In waves
Insurmountable waves
Of imagination and thought
And here I am
Finding chapters in their bones
And meat stuck in my teeth
Smoke rising from their grills
Having roasted me
Selling me the world
In a single sentence
Buying up spaces in my soul
To keep it in remembrance
Infringing on the lot
Reserved for my headstone
Even now
My mind becomes a war zone

Emerging from the enemy camp
Is a handsome lad
Called Me
His breastplate engraved with the phrase
Latter Glory
His sword is a pen
Scaling a million storeys
Each floor wonderfully written
I click my pen
To the thoughtless wind
Sweeping me up in his presence
Cloak dipped in Elder essence
His tongue
Tattoed with blessings
He speaks
And all the weak
And weary
Seeking might
Are strengthened

And all I'm really thinking
Is
"What's up with these last boss specs?"
Looking closely at his entourage
Here's what his banner read

The glory of the latter house
As you previously expressed
Never would have guessed huh
Never would have guessed

And down the banner rolled
Like a scroll
Revealing words I didn't expect

The house is one
And without a bottom
The house is a rootless tree
The house is one
And without the top
The house is incomplete

The poem ended
But I still tend
To overdo it
Glory smells like
The one that got away
So it's really hard not pursue it
It could be better
Can be better
Will be better!
Till I ruin it
Waging war with dead men's bones
That hope I learn
How to be still
And let the message guide me
Instead of exploding prose
At will