"Fallen King" - Bahamas AI Art
©A. Derek Catalano
Some Go Up, Some Go Down
The world is a wheel with a restless spin,
Where the losses are thick and the victories thin.
On the golden rungs of a ladder tall,
Some scramble upward while others will fall.
For the winds of fortune are fickle and fast,
Turning the first into lonely and last,
And lifting the soul who was buried in clay
To the brilliant heights of a brand-new day.
I. The Ascent
Some are born with a spark in the eye,
With wings already fashioned to fly.
They climb through the clouds with a steady hand,
Surveying the riches of all the land.
Their names are etched upon marble and stone,
They sit for a while on a glittering throne.
With every endeavor, they seem to increase,
In a world of abundance and effortless peace.
They build up their towers of silver and glass,
Watching the shadows of lesser men pass.
II. The Descent
But the ground is a hungry and patient thing,
Waiting for those who have acted as king.
For some go down with a sudden crash,
When the markets fail or the empires smash.
A slip of the foot or a change in the tide,
A hollowed-out heart or a blinded pride,
And the man who was walking the edge of the sun
Finds that his season of glory is done.
He tumbles through darkness, stripped of his name,
To the cold, quiet valley of silence and shame.
Where the losses are thick and the victories thin.
On the golden rungs of a ladder tall,
Some scramble upward while others will fall.
For the winds of fortune are fickle and fast,
Turning the first into lonely and last,
And lifting the soul who was buried in clay
To the brilliant heights of a brand-new day.
I. The Ascent
Some are born with a spark in the eye,
With wings already fashioned to fly.
They climb through the clouds with a steady hand,
Surveying the riches of all the land.
Their names are etched upon marble and stone,
They sit for a while on a glittering throne.
With every endeavor, they seem to increase,
In a world of abundance and effortless peace.
They build up their towers of silver and glass,
Watching the shadows of lesser men pass.
II. The Descent
But the ground is a hungry and patient thing,
Waiting for those who have acted as king.
For some go down with a sudden crash,
When the markets fail or the empires smash.
A slip of the foot or a change in the tide,
A hollowed-out heart or a blinded pride,
And the man who was walking the edge of the sun
Finds that his season of glory is done.
He tumbles through darkness, stripped of his name,
To the cold, quiet valley of silence and shame.
