Omicron (what I will never possess)

You were a pillar I built into a monument, and that monument was the notion of how an ascetic ought to regard his sister--resplendent with the golden sash of honour.
Then I realized I wasn't an ascetic.  And that house fell down (although you remained where you were, beryl and onyx, recalcitrant outside, heart full of fissures).

I wanted to build something greater.
I welcomed the rubble; I wanted to build an empire.
I am sure of this.

Every single house divided falls.
I was a boy born into unity, and you and yours came by the droves (a prerequisite apparently).
I know not what to do with you or your words.

I will look every where else.  I cannot bear these ruins anymore,
Especially in the hideous light of the fact that you were once where I stand.