Light,

And wind,

There is peak,

That some seek,

An ascension I speak,

Civilization’s shining cap,

Sitting as knowing monarch,

Looking judgementally upon lands,

Golden thrones in their heavenly homes,

Gathering-up the robot’s information tomes,

So they may draw from the land its glowing flesh,

Its trees, elements, rivers, pooling places, its hard bones,

And within vast riches of pillage from a community’s labour,

Amplifying their ascendant pitch so a world is of their reflection.

For some only focus on highly idealistic end results of a selfish project,

Believing they’ve found the secrets of authority ushering a swift ascension,

Or an understanding from supreme information sent to them by all-divine gods,

Leading them to brutally stumble over required steps that arrive to peak humanely,

Becoming a disfigured blue-yellowing bruise as they trip themselves by speedy stride.

And, when they finally ascend the peak, to then self-reflect within the mirror at the stair’s top,

Only will they see a hideous and battered monster, that battled to peak without any step of care,

And so mortified will they become, that they will tumble down the stairs, forced to climb it once again.