These will be my last words

written in stone.

My neighbor moved-in

last summer

and yesterday—he gave me a strange look

like, what’s wrong with you?

but he doesn’t even know me.

I suspect

he wonders why

I don’t have people over

at my apartment.

The opinions of others

are so wrong

that I don’t care to hear them.

My opinion

is constantly tested

especially when,

I don’t say anything.

Even when I win

they will say,

“so and so,

is more likable,”

because

people usually fall in love with greatness

when it’s dead.

Greatness

is a lonely business

without reward.

It doesn’t want attention

because it’s frequently

scorned.

It knows people are wrong

and

arrogance—is the word, they use, to describe it, while it breathes

but when it dies, they stop holding their breath

and recognize

what it was.

I am not great—I know it

but

the pursuit of greatness

is the only worthwhile game.

What do I get out of it

when I win?

Not money, or fame

only a knowing

that greatness is

a standard,

people despise

because it’s better.

Even with high self-esteem,

it won’t yield.

Like the sword in the stone

the bravest, strongest, most popular knights

couldn’t pull their destiny

because greatness doesn’t yield to popularity.

It asks,

are you worthy?

and if you aren’t, despite your self-opinion

it won’t yield.