The Most Powerful Man in the World

What would you do if you were the most powerful man in the world?
A man of limits met and broken, basking in the heat casted from under his skin.
His body ever grown to that of a tree with the power to cut a forest with but a slash.
His soul glowing brighter than the sun, acting as a silent beacon to the universe that surrounds him.
His mind always abundant, wisdom as vast as a library with tombs guarded by silence.
He moves slowly to his weight, each step booming lightly with the might of cannons.
His body stiff and steady like a tree, but with the might to leap him into the clouds to sore with the wind he watched shave the earth.
He has watched the world grow and bloom before him, his age meaning nothing to his flesh and bone.
His body is his own living tomb, never dying yet watching many die around him.

What would you do if you were the most powerful man in the world?
Would you use your might to fight beasts 100 times your size?
Would you send yourself off to look for people in need and tend to their cries?
Would you dominate the world and crush it under your feet?
Would you help the world bloom and accomplish many feats?
Would you jump into the clouds and scrape their edges with your signature?
Would you dive deep into the sea without the need to breathe and see all of god’s creatures?
Would you act as a leader to your people, granting them prosperity?
Would you sit within the side lines of your tribe as a wise man and show them tranquility?
Would you set yourself as an alpha and bask in your greatness?
Would you see yourself as an example of man and become silent…?

Ever silence.

Silence is valuable in a land that eats itself constantly.
Silence is as powerful as loudness is vast, broken only when it must be.
Silence offers a sense of precision that many crave, yet refuse to act with.
To demand your neighbor to “shut up” is a force unnecessary.
But to communicate within crisis is when silence must be broken.
Would you become silent to a world that now offers no challenge to you?
Or would you share your world with theirs and offer a new point of view?

But what are you, the most powerful man of the world, to everyone else under you?

What are you to the warrior that bathed in the blood he fought against, questioning his purpose?
What are you to the children that wish to be like you, not knowing of your challenges yet willing to fight them?
What are you to your suitors that wish for your protection, offering you experiences you have seen thousands of times?
What are you to the elder that has watched his love ones die, looking for an answer to his questions to the gods?
What are you to your enemies that crave for your destruction, seeing you as a threat to their power while you sit quietly like a statue?
What are you to the gods that see you as a threat to their influence, seeing you as something growing more powerful than them?

What are you, indeed?

What have you done?
What have you done, child, what have you done?

To them, you are everything, and to them, you are nothing.
They cannot become what you are, yet they demand the chance to become you.
They see you as someone to fear.
Someone to please and to pleasure.
Someone that deserves it.
Whether you wish for it or not.
You are no more than them.
That is what you say to yourself.
You are no more than them.

Even if you have guided the world from its hardships and woes.
Even if you fought the mightiest of foes.
Even if you helped sow what you reap.
Even if you helped reap what you sow.
You are no more than them.

Even when the gods came from the heavens to smother your might, giving you a battle you could not possibly win, yet still you do.
Still you fight and to them you over power their omnipotent façade.
Yet when death cannot be granted, you are given a tomb beyond their reach.
Your body wrapped within chains of metal and a scolding steel mask of their creation.
A tomb you lay dormant for generations at a time, left to fight with the darkness that slowly takes your power away.

Your tales slowly become forgotten, lost to tones buried under centuries of growth.
Yet your people grow without your help.
They prosper from common stone to the strength of steel, creating beasts of metal unseen by you.
But there will always be a day someone will ask for more.
They will seek for your tomb to bask in your greatness, and your tale of greatness will only begin once again.
To them, what are you?
Are you a monster?
Are you the peak of evolution?
Are you a godly warrior?

And then he will simply reply “No”, with his deep voice growling from his girth.
He will look beyond his releaser to the land of steel that sits over his old home, and he will smile.
His answer short, yet powerful.
“I am human.”