To be a man of stature, yes, that is what I desire to be.
Mounted on a pedestal, I shall be, so statuesquely.
Cast in bronze, I’ll be, atop my dias which I’ll outgrow.
A man of repute, bringing from above to those below.
And in the eve, when doting on my stature, to syllabify,
While thinking pretty thoughts thereon, I shall get high.
For a man of stature, yes, such as I, can never go too high.
And with these wings of mine: they’ll see that I can fly.

An eagle on this barren crag, I gaze at the beings below.
Lesser organisms than men of stature, such as I, you know.
Men of import such as I’ve no time to spare for little games.
No time I’ll make for brushing up or memorizing names,
For men of stature need not do such things, not I,
If names be known, be they names of high repute, like mine.
And with these wings I’ll launch myself in streams of air,
To let them know their standing far beneath me, way down there.

Swooping down to snatch at those, my lessers, straight I fly.
Sharp and direct, careening, lightning quick is my design.
Those who see me: how they cower; how they squeal in fright,
Scattering like gnats, afraid of me, the daunting dragonfly.
Gathering my wings to land and walk amongst the lesser men,
Blastlike, I hit the pavement hard, and do not stop even then,
But just to make my point I shatter it and smash right through,
As if to say: “Look at what a man of stature, such as I, can do!”

Published by Johnny Strings