Walls of stone, pillars of wood, doors held fast
Against a foe upon marble, and such
Antiquated weapons do I hold, last
In line to hold them, last member to touch
Them in a long line of family dreams
Now broken by the enemy who deems
Us unfit for rule. Inner room of glass,
Stained by rays of gold, blue, red and green,
Painted with color's so that we may pass
Through a world untouched by the woes of he
That breaks us in two. Yet now he comes near,
Baring his teeth, uninvited to tea,
But heeding no law save his own I heed
The call I've always known and take the lead.
Last in Line, (c) Luke Bennette, June 2012
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