Poetry · Writing

Olympus

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.

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