you,
slave to inertia,
plod on
a noisy, cumbersome exercise
but somewhere is made ready
a secret legion
with visions
of crystal towers
cities of justice
and above all
alive inside
with the possibility of myth
the epic
once all the purveyors of painless outrage
have spent their tedious little words
they
the paragons
these
will be left
standing
integrity riveted to their iron frames
the superstructure of that which they have chosen,
an immutable certainty,
heroic in their steadfastness
the last great meaning