These stones were once a castle
Now a jumbled mass of rock,
All that is left to remind the world,
Of what it was that once stood here,
As the sun crests the horizon,
Its rays are broken by this waste,
Creating a shady spot amongst the debris,
In which a man sleeps.
This man was once a builder,
With his hands a fortress wrought,
Every day he added on and raised it towards the sky.
Until one day a sickness came,
And struck him down from where he stood on his ramparts.
It laid him low and made him weak.
But weaker still did he become, when he saw the first cracks form,
On the face of that which he had crafted with such tender care.
The mighty castle crumbled, over many days and nights
The wind and rain and fire and pain, brought it down brick by brick
And the man sat at the bottom of the courtyard, and watched it fall around him
And said, “Why should I build when it must fall in the end?”
This cripple was once a man, who was blinded by his fears,
unable to raise a hand to protect what he once loved.
His back he kept turned against the light of the sun.
But then one day he fell asleep, and in his sleep he dreamed,
And in his dream he saw himself, but he was not broken,
In fact he saw a king.
When he awoke, the suns first light, it graced the lashes of his eyes,
And though he pained and feared the future, inside he finally smiled,
He picked himself up, and brushed off the dust that he had been wallowing in,
And he picked up a stone, and placed it atop another.
This castle was once a stone,
a jumbled mass of rock,
but what was once a pile of rubble
now stands impregnable in the glow of the setting sun.
This king was once a cripple.