During my odyssey, I once came upon a world with a broken kingdom,
and a king who floated blissfully, as his empire burned to ash beneath.

And I asked, "Do you not see your home down there,
                            crumbling to dust? You, the king, why do you not writhe,
                            not avenge your people, or spill your own blood in despair?"

And the king smiled, the coldest mirth in eyes so far from their light, I shook;
And he told me the story of a creature who lost his way in a forest too deep.
And he told me,

"There once was a child who laughed and played,
and with his friends he built their small castle, their homely empire;
and their happiness soared through their sky so low,
they painted the stars every night, and so,
they saw not what lay beyond their ecstasy spires;
they saw not what God had made.

But the child wished to see beyond their canvas,
past the jubilant colours and bold strokes that carved their skies,
and so he left one day and promised to return."

"But he never did?" said I, and the king seethed and sighed;
I held my tongue forthwith.

"Past the kaleidoscope of their innocence did he want to see,
and so one day, he left their cascading monolith.
And his friends knew not of his indecision, his lies,
of what their kingdom would soon be;
a cold, unfamiliar carcass.

But the child grew old and the road dark,
and he saw many things as he traversed the land:
He saw the nature of God, of people and existence;
He saw hypocrisy in love, honesty in deviance,
and simple truth in destruction.
He saw the edge of infinity, and looked back and cried,
'We are too small, and I am too far gone; do not look further, I beseech you,
If I cry out in isolation, do not take my hand!'"

"Surely his time away had not made their difference so stark?"

"Irrelevant," said the king, "for he believed it did, and doubt upon oneself leaves the deepest mark."

"And so the child, terrified to face his beloved sky,
built a monument to his arrogance, his doubt and fear;
a monolithic dagger planted deeper than he knew,
a dark tower which, under his care,
rotted away with him inside.
An exile he knew to be singularly true;
with dormant wings, never again did he fly."

The king turned to face the smouldering truth in front of me. "He burned them both; the dagger and his home, and watched it all fall."

He then looked at me and grinned. "With the limitless cliff of death, why bother choosing between worlds, after all?"

And so I left the king in all the terror his desperation had caused;

I walked away into the abyss, far away from that man and his burning empire,

possibly more confused than he was.