He built his walls from ambition and borrowed stone,
Convinced the earth itself would yield to what he owned,
He looked across the valley from his highest tower,
And laughed at every warning like a man of power.
The tallest man falls hardest when the ground gives way,
He spent ten years ascending to destroy in a day,
You cannot stack your arrogance above the clouds,
And not expect the lightning to come screaming loud.
He hired men to tell him only what he longed to hear,
He paid them well for silence every time they veered,
He drew the map and told the rivers where to flow,
And cursed the floods that proved what any fool would know.
Now the tower stands in pieces in the muddy field,
The deeds and proclamations are a fractured shield,
His voice is barely audible above the cutting wind,
That polished bronze conviction worn away and thinned.
There are ruins in the desert left by a thousand kings,
Who thought their specific greatness changed the way time swings,
The sand buries their faces and their chiseled declarations,
Nobody recalls even half their proud foundations.