On giants

I stand on the shoulders of giants.
We tower over our surroundings.
The floor isn’t even in sight.

Not all giants are tall.
Some bend the world to their will.
Some bend to bear the weight of the world.
All giants stand.

The trouble with giants,
is they have grown.
Grown too tall to reach the ground.
Too tall to feel their feet.

So we repair, we chisel.
None hold their shape.
None keep their view.
We make them familiar.

Giants can carry more than one tower.
Giants can carry generations.
And crumble from a gaze.

I fear the giants.
I want to see the ground.
But it’s riddled with their corpses.