the man who lives at the top of the mountain
does not know of the life at the root of his tree.
he needs not strain himself to touch the clouds,
and has never found himself in such a position.
from atop his throne at the summit, he peers
at the world, sitting alongside his feet, and he
snickers. such a man could have a heart of
unwavering ignorance, built by the icy castle
he stands upon. and thus, it was necessary for
Fate to push him off his mighty pedestal . . .

and suddenly, he was not king of the world.
he found that every human
was the same as he, but so vastly varied as well;
their hearts chimed of their own accord,
but together at the same time;
their voices were strong alone and
powerful when congregated;
their eyes met the colors of the rainbow
and found those same colors within themselves;
and the sky was, alas,
too far to reach.
and what, may you ask, did they do?
they have done as you have,
laughing at the patterns of the clouds,
gazing at the messages of the stars,
and determination filled their veins
as they sought to reach the sky in their own ways.
a single mother sends her first child to college;
a doctor manages to save a life;
a couple or more find eternal love;
a single person chooses life over death at the edge of a bridge.

and it was in these ways that the man learned,
his mountain was the flattest plain in the world.
the mountains lived within people, and there
his icy castle gave way to a little bit of
hope,
a little determination.
and he gazed at the sky the same way they did.