🤴
Approach, dear dreamer, if you dare,
But know my skies hold thinning air.
My steps are stitched in woven flame,
My name, too sharp for lips of shame.
You came with hands of dust and thread,
A crown of noise upon your head.
No sword, no gift, no golden key,
Yet thought to tame a storm like me.
Did Daedalus forget to warn his son?
Even Icarus soared closer than you’ve done.
You chase the sun but dread the cold,
A heart too timid, a hand too old.
I dance where only giants tread,
I feast where lesser men have fled.
I wear the stars, I breathe the skies,
I kiss the sun where eagles rise.
So take this truth I lay in rhyme:
A throne too high commits no crime.
It’s built for those who carve through air
Not those who knock and gasp for prayer.
🤴
Footnote:
This poem is a declaration of unreachability - a message to those who approach greatness with presumption but without worth. It evokes mythological imagery (Daedalus, Icarus), not to flatter the dreamer, but to caution them: wings of wax and hollow pride won’t carry you where gods walk. The throne is not cruel for being high - it is simply not meant for the unready. This is not arrogance. This is altitude.
