We are so strong to ourselves.
We live in castles and wear our armor,
and go on quests to prove our worth.
We slay the dragons and battle sea-serpents,
regarding death as we do the ant,
casually superior and paying no mind,
never facing it.
We treat mysteries of the universe
with educated familiarity, keepers of secrets
we were never told.
We boast of progress and achievement,
count trophies and polish medals,
soak in champagne and write memoirs
and condescend to allow our worship.
But when the temple gods are smashed and replaced,
When the tapestries rot and the coins tarnish,
When shapeless fear reveals what we do not know,
and death forces a point-blank gaze at it,
when the monsters resurrect
and our castles crumble down,
we wake from our dreams,
and realize that we are only children.