King of the hill

I’m the strongest one around.
I tell myself this because it’s true.
It’s true because I tell myself this.

I secured an iron-clad throne
atop the summit of my country,
and ruled with unquestioned authority –
until they came.

They passed through my world like a storm:
powerful and unstoppable.
There was no malice in their actions,
but they left desolation in their wake.

My fortress lay in ruins:
the walls were torn down,
carrying chunks of my foundation away,
and forcing me to face the real world.

The mountains of my childhood
were merely hills inflated with hubris,
and the complacency of my years
never recognized the truth until now.

I was a big fish in a small pond,
and I sat there like a fat little frog
who’d convinced himself that a gilded cage
was a golden throne.

I could rebuild, but honestly –
what’s the point?
I can’t return to that way of living
without blinding myself to the truth.

The once and future king no more,
the little king of the hill departs.
Regalia removed and forgotten,
I track the footsteps of giants.

But I do not seek to cast them down,
instead my heartfelt wish
is to lift myself up to their level,
and walk among the gods.

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