To make the world of frighteners pause,
angels flinging their heads back
and dead men rising,
to spread asphalt cracks
and tear down the sky with a clatter-
am I grown so powerful?
Could I collapse the empires
I’ve built on a whim
just to witness the faces of the innocent,
a supreme sort of joke,
to laugh and be rued, unrepentant,
by the masses of average below?
Have I grown to manipulate only?
Is conducting a symphony of tears and sighs
sufficient to make one important?
Should I be rather convincing myself further
of my capable hands for molding, shaping,
commanding the mountains into peaks
and climbing and shouting and reveling
to you, who cannot hear?
Am I grown so powerful yet that I
could claim purpose for the trying and trying,
that I could say it was dragging you,
kicking and screaming, any closer?
Am I grown so that I could ever stop
pretending that there was any road
that would see you here with me?
Am I grown so powerful yet,
so tyranically, awfully, deliriously powerful,
to determine to forget about you?
Tell me, am I grown?