Our words are a ladder
Hand crafted by the ancients
With gilded steps
and sturdy frames
As we climb
We pass the clouds
Into Olympus itself
Walk with care on the ascent
Offer your hand to those below

Alas, time brought forth such bitter truths
Not all share in the recognition
Stepping loudly and violently
As the worn rungs splinter
Beneath their selfish desires

Once illustrious footholds are caked
In crumbing filth and thick soot
The rich wood reeks of rot
As decomposers gather
To feast on the carcass

Thus our words grow feeble and twisted
Evocation eclipsed by enmity
As our gilded ladder is snapped
Gutted and pawned
As the wise minds of bygone ages
Are left to watch as their own blood
Pools and stagnates at the base
Robbed of the tools
To understand what has been lost

~Galwyn

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