Clarity in the flesh.

I once held a mountain in my hand;

It did not compare to you.

Though magnificant it was,

its shadow could not mirrior your divinity.

As it was, the shadow’s stain was weak;

the sun washed it out.

Now there was only light;

Bright, blinding, beautiful.

The shadow had vansihed.

The mountain was grand and statuesque,

but its shadow feeble;

the complete counter part to its founder.

But the status of the mountain did not matter,

because what was left behind was only temporary.

Faded, diminished, abated.

It is true that what follows is what is seen.

Once something is gone,

no matter how great in its prime,

the only thing left to remember is its legacy.

Maybe that’s what forever is.

Maybe that’s why the mountain is nothing next to you.

You’re leaving something behind;

something to be remembered by.

You’re standing your ground,

and producing an eternal shadow.