Under the driving rain,
his tears remained unseen,
barely above the Pit,
the last rung of the Ladder,
perfectly balanced, from the bottom now, nothing could bring him down.
But now it’s a swordsman, just outside the house, a blade throwing windblasts..
Stupid, useless, incapable, you’re like the rest of us. Stop Dreaming.
And above, on its flying island, piked on the bottom, a bowman, shooting five arrows in a row.
For they could not let you reach the sky.
Birds are shot for a reason
He luckily has a strong enough shield to absorb whatever comes.
It somehow is the same fear, both the Earthling and the IslandMan ; to see somebody, driven by his own mind towards ever greater..
What it is that is on the top.. and, is there a top..
I might know why it is so rare, to observe a shooting star