Feud of the Avatars

The painful stroke of marginalized
Artists, making 50,000 florins,
Taking up the apprenticeship of sire;
Walking the path his father gave...

When the two great masters met
They hated one another, competing
To best an adversary. Bitter and spiteful,
Like Southey and Byron,
Wordsworth and Shelley,
Leonardo and Michelangelo...

I watch like Raphael,
Wondering at their chafe.
Their unbridled hate.

For all genius is welcome to me...
I will applaud it.

Yet, the modern sage says Michelangelo's unfinished
Pieta is better than the one set in St. Peter's Basilica;
Better than Moses and David
For that, there can be no Raphael now...
For the sophist says
That exegesis is deferred to the reader
And their capricious whims.

I told him, I'd "burn my entire library
"And everything I'd ever wrote
"If you are right."

Yet, his musings were divine...
It was not jealousy, just the disrespect
To communicated thought.

Were Leonardo and Michelangelo
Different? Were they not the same,
Dissecting corpses, and both experts?
Yet, Leonardo was jealous of the craft
Of Sculpture, and Michelangelo 
Defiant in his defense.

Why do I write?
I tenderly ask this question when I see the sophist
Has reign over the modern age.
While I do not wish a scientist to determine the language---
While I do not want an algorithm to determine my meaning---
He says, "Language is not an algorithm, it expands, contracts..."
I say to him, there is one thing I disagree with.
One thing. I said that words can be understood.
And for that, he ignored me.

Like Leonardo's disrespect for Michelangelo's
Sculpture, the terrific thing is that I am not
Simply caked with dust like a baker.
I form with words the sculpture of my architecture...
And I wish them to mean something.
Not just be a kaleidoscope of feeling.