Superbia

When we are young
Wandering the face of the earth
Wondering what our dreams might be worth
Learning that we're only immortal
For a limited time

We start so hopeful, striding through the day, in command of ourselves, our destiny, and the circumstances around us, and somewhere, something changes. We realize that in the pride of our "wisdom" we put too much faith in our ability to alter reality the around us.  We carry on, unmindful that having never intentionally cast the lines loose, we have drifted from our moorings.  

The engines however, drive on.

Though his mind is not for rent,
Dont put him down as arrogant.
His reserve, a quiet defense,
Riding out the days events.
The river...

We begin to see cracks around the edges, the mortar begins to weaken, the color fades and the foundation is no longer strong.  To casual appearances, we are still strong.  We continue to drive on, shouldering the burdens of the day and if we are lucky, some of those around  us.  Those who are perceptive begin to see the toll, the stride is no longer so long or so strong.  We do not march, we simply walk and over the days and miles we begin to shuffle. The shoulders, once so proud and strong now begin to sag, the back is bent and the legs bow.

Driven to the margin of error
Driven to the edge of control
Driven to the margin of terror
Driven to the edge of a deep, dark hole

Realizing we are no longer the Superman we once longed and worked to be, we begin to look for that which we have lost.  No one is so weak as the man who once thought himself the hero, standing at the edge looking over in fear and dread, unable to fly, and dreaming in vain.

When the dust has cleared
And victory denied
A summit too lofty
River a little too wide
If we keep our pride
Though paradise is lost
We will pay the price
But we will not count the cost

The realizations set in.  Having stood apart for so long we realize we are not high above it all on the mountaintop, we are simply on a low hill whose gentle slope is now too steep to climb.  Helpless to carry what we have taken on we no longer posess the ability to set it down, much less carry it on.  Our vision fogged by indecision and the encroachment of despair we don't know where to turn.  Those who we have drawn as close as we will allow cannot help us, how does the soldier tell the child they can no longer carry the fight, and must leave them alone?

Some are born to move the world
To live their fantasies
But most of us just dream about
The things we'd like to be
Sadder still to watch it die
Than never to have known it
For you, the blind who once could see
The bell tolls for thee...

As the world moves on, we find ourselves unable to keep pace, the shuffling gait can no longer propel us through the day and the sense of dread gives way to loss.  With one last gasp we attempt to perform that one last heroic feat.  We hope that simply by dint of force we can regain what we have lost.  A story has been told of someone who could bear any burden, scale any mountain, fight any fight and carry all others to a place of safety.  We hunt down the hurting, the broken hearted and offer to salve their wounds as we find a strength in our bones that will also carry us.  In their pain and tears they take the hand extended, not knowing how frail it is.

In that instant we collapse.  Everything falls.  The foundation crumbles to dust and the weight of that which we have borne, whether by choice, circumstance or appropriation falls on all.  Every tear is poured from the broken bottle, the small hurts which we have tried so desperately to allay become cudgels that assail each person who we have wrested them from.

The vague sensations, the bright and nameless visions which once were angels beckoning us now mock us. The tears we once checked now come unbidden and unstoppable.  Wracked in grief and loss, the hands on our time and minds no longer stroke and soothe, but grope and tear.

It may sound absurd...but dont be naive
Even heroes have the right to bleed
I may be disturbed...but wont you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream

Nothing is so desperate as needing that which we once thought ourselves to be, locked in the fortress we have built, yet desperately wanting to be at play in the fields of gold.

I cant stand to fly
Im not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees