We are kings within mountains.
Captains of its crevices and canals,
Tribunal of its tributaries.
From slow paced mannerism and lamentations: we wear down.
So close, side by side: a white cap ocean,
Becomes a rolling valley.
Our struggle to motivate one another,
Yet still unmoved: What now
Does it accomplish when we are weathered?
Us kings of mountains.
Our words: gabbled echo in the distance.
Our concepts: faint withered haze in still air.
With wisdoms and meanings and motivations still not followed,
Can us kings ever meet hand in hand
Upon summits so far apart?
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