The Weight Of Your Throne

You who stand so proudly judging,
Tell me, what do you see?
Do you gaze upon a world beneath you,
Or merely the shattered remnants of those you crushed to rise?
How does it feel, to have turned compassion to ash,
To have trampled over dreams and lives
Just to satisfy that insatiable pride?

Speak!
For I know the words are burning in your throat,
Desperate to spill forth your tale of conquest,
To boast of the empires built on broken backs.
Was it worth it?

Did the climb to the top quench the fire within,
Or did it stoke new flames,
Leaving you forever hollow,
Forever reaching for more?

When you stand alone on that peak,
Surrounded by silence and ghosts,
Does your pride embrace you?
Does it soothe your weary soul,
Or does it taunt you,
A mirror reflecting the cost of every step you took?

Answer me, proud one,
For the judgment you cast so freely
Is no shield against the weight of your own deeds.
And when the dust settles,
When the echoes of your triumph fade,
What will remain of you?
A conqueror of the weak,
Or merely a shadow of what you could have been?