Forged our Drills

A monster once lurked the cave of my soul, Crept away, Burrowing itself under rock and stone, Burying me under its underlying breath, A drill, Smashing the covers, A hand waiting to be discovered, And so it is, A growing faith hatches on the drill, Waiting for a sentence to be told, And so it is, A written paper plastered in bronze, Waiting to be infected by a gold sheet, And so it is, Who is the king honoring his knight, If the knight has not slain, Who is a queen bee ordering their workers, When she gave them the honey herself, Who is a teacher helping his student write, Only doing so by writing it themselves, That is not Mr. Main, The head of the slain better be on my back, The honey must be packed, The paper better be a goddamn effort, That is Mr. Main, Holding me above the cage, Containing the lion of literature, But he walks in wearing the cloak of meat, He entered me into a pack of hyenas, As they laugh on top of my leadership, Until he taught me to replicate their laugh, He brought me to the top of Fiji, As I would knit from the wool he bestowed, Would he wait or would he leave after too long, Yes, yes he would, But all titans must fall, All kings must pass their throne, All bees must leave the hive, All teachers must end teaching, But his teachings will not leave with him, Each of us hold his cloak of meat, You hold his knowledge of the laugh, You hold his wool, And you always will, And the future ants to join our hill, They will gain these items of fortune, We will give it to them, Mr. Main I promise with all of our futures, We will not let your teaching be forgotten, Your kingdom will always be yours, And the prince awaiting, Their wool will be your recycled coat, And they will not stand for a single so or like from any student, Their will be no more monsters in the souls of ants, No burrows to hide, Only hundreds of drills on a rack, Drills you forged, As you forged our futures.