You never said it would be easy, the battle and glory.
More like battle and gory! I say, And where is mine, by the way?
An Ezekiel forehead like granite, emery harder than flint,
I charge the stormy gates and batter down second heaven
like a metalsmith. With my head.
Who uses such a tool?
A man with the bronze of appearance breathes fire into my gut—
intercession for you, beloved—
and turns this tarnished effort to gold.
That takes some polishing.
The paint and the ink and the fist through the fight
is my gory glory, and every penny worth it.
Intercession for you, beloved.