You stand on the summit and gaze at the sky,
With a cold, stony heart and a prideful eye.
You've scrubbed off the dust of the road you once knew,
As if the old shadows were never a part of you.
You wear your new silk like a shimmering shield,
Forgetting the sweat in the laborer's field.
But a tree that denies where its deep roots are grown,
Is a tree that the wind will soon leave overthrown.
The ladder you climbed was built by the hands,
Of the people you left in the lower-most lands.
To mock your own past is to spit at the rain,
That gave you the water to drown out your pain.
The gold on your finger, the boast in your tone,
Cannot fill the silence of standing alone.
For time is a circle, and seasons will veer,
And the things you once fled are the things you will fear.
Don't look at the mirror and see a grand king,
While losing the heart that once taught you to sing.
For the highest of towers will crumble to dust,
When the soul of the builder is eaten by rust.
It's a tough lesson, but a necessary one—humility is what keeps a person truly great.