The Priest-King and the 'Game of Legacy.'
There was once a Priest-King, goldened crowned and silent eyed, who built his kingdom, not with weapons, but with wisdom; with a tongue that turned stone into cities; and breath that summoned the harvest from barren ground.
By his side, stood a muse - laughter in her hair, promises dancing on her lips.
She sang to him of kingdoms vast, of legacy eternal.
And he; strong in spirit, drank deeply of her melodies.
But as the moon waxed and waned, the muse changed.
What once was song became smoke.
What once was touch became tangle.
The muse, now a Femme Fatale, no longer built - she unspooled.
No longer offered foundation - only shifting sand.
Her words became rivers without banks, waters without sauce.
Flooding the King's fields without nourishing a single seed.
He listened...and grew confused.
She whispered emotion instead of transaction, illusion instead of substance.
And every time he tried to stack stones into walls, she replaced blueprint with riddles.
The King wise even in heartbreak, realized: 'building cannot happen in the flood.'
One cannot raise temples on quicksand.
And so he learned.
He learned that when unstructured words rain from the heavens, you do not gather the floods into barrels, you do not chase the mist.
You simply - place your bet...and move on.
He bet on himself.
On the soil under his own feet.
On the vision no siren could drown.
And he stepped back into the open fields of life,
his heart no longer anchored to emotional ties;
but turned, now; to the still, receptive air.
He waited - not in grief - but in power,
listening for the whisper of a new blueprint
carried in the wind.
Listening for the structured word.
For the language of builders.
For the architecture of Kings.
And you, listener.
You too can feel the strength, in;
placing your bet...once and for all,
on the sacred soil of your own future,
and move forward - clean, clear and unshakable.
Leaving floods behind.
Raising temples unseen.
Sovereign once more.
The kingdom will rise again.
And those meant to 'stand at your side' -
will find you.
Because they always do.
by Alan Anderson, co-created with ChatGPT.