I see you;
standing
on your mountain top
peering down at us
like a god to a man.
Who crowned you king?
When did your entitlement
place you at the top,
to call down below saying
we deserved our past.
It easy from way up there
isn’t it. Will be
waiting when a sudden gust
out of your control
pushes you. The fall
down won’t be pretty.
Saint's Muse 