I sat on a pillar, called Grace.
On honor, respect, and morals, it was built.
With awards, responsibilities, and pride, it was stacked.
Glory was the destination, to which
This pillar would take me.
At first, it had taken me above the
Cacophony of slander.
It would attempt to reach up to me,
But my pillar was far too high.
Too often, would this pillar be shook.
But, I was held in place,
With gold and ribbon bindings.
Arrows would be strewn in my direction,
They would attempt to reach me,
But my pillar was far too high.
Around me, other pillars had arisen,
Often for other purposes, but some were similar as well.
They would call out to me,
But my pillar was far too high.
I had familiar surroundings on the ground,
Their company comforted me,
One day I tried to find them, to distract me from the height,
But my pillar was far too high.
Given the impressive stature of my pillar,
Soon, people had begun to proclaim words of praise,
Remarking in how magnificent the pillar had become.
The words had been spoken in my direction,
But my pillar was too high.
Eventually, I had lost consciousness, the gold and ribbon chains had suffocated me,
I was falling.
I tried to save myself from the drop,
But my pillar was too high.