How Hard the Mighty Fall

I'm not quite sure how to proceed from my last post. The conflict in the middle east rages on, and my life has taken no unexpected turn for the worse or for the better. I have no "breaking news" to rival my short foray into the political arena, and although I still have much to say about everything, I can't seem to focus on anything.

So allow me to take you into the past -the not-so-distant past. When I was in Israel, and inspiration -like milk and honey -flowed freely. I kept a journal every night, chronicling my spiritual journey, making a cheshbon hanefesh. But I often meandered away from that theme, and just let my pen write what it will. Sometimes poems came out, and sometimes, they were actually good. The following poem was written by me (for a change!), and I'm still deciding if it's good, bad, corny or somewhere in between. Maybe you can help me out.

Bear with me -it isn't the shortest poem on the block. Not that it's on a block, of course, it's on my computer and now yours, but you know what I mean.

How hard the mighty fall
The fool builds a tower high
And climbs it to survey his work
But on no foundation, it cannot stand
The fool cannot fly and he falls to land

How hard the mighty fall
The fool, the king, the palace tall
Without wings, the fool does not fly
With no foundation, he cannot build high
The fool believes the sky is his
He sets his eyes to the heavens above
The fool, the king, over all, he dreams
But then that king does fall

On the ground again, his life is saved
And once standing, again he dreams
And again prepares to duel with the sky
He does not learn a fool cannot fly

After many flights never flown
The fool finally sees how the wind has blown
A fool such as he must have wings to fly
And those wings can be grown only with his mind
So this fool, this king over nothing but his own feet
Left for the city where great wisdom he would meet
His travels took him near, far, low, and high
And his name was unknown! he said with a sigh
But once I gather knowledge great
I'll have the power to change all their fates
With knowledge, understanding, and with wisdom too
I'll dominate over all the nations very soon
He grew so excited contemplating all he would learn
That he forgot a fool can never the truth discern

Once the king reached the city of wisdom great
Time passed as it does, at a pretty quick rate
Eventually, the king had knowledge so vast
That he decided to return to his kingdom, fast
To impress, to amaze, to enlighten and inspire
And news of his wisdom spread like fire

The king gathered his people into his banquet hall
Proclaiming out loud, daring everyone and all
To ask a question on any sort of matter
(If he couldn't answer, his reputation would be in tatters)
One after another, the people asked questions galore
One after another, the king answered easily all and more
Finally, silence reigned -their king was a sage!
The king was satisfied -he was now all the rage!

But amidst the silence, one woman stood crying
For this all was a mockery; she felt her king was lying
To uphold the truth, she felt she must speak
Even if that meant dying

"I have a question, Your Majesty," the woman cried out
"Please, from your heart, what is life about?"
Those words- from your heart -froze the fool, the king
He could not utter a word, not one thing
For he never expected to be tried on such a small part
For you see, dear friend, this fool had no heart

And so he knew nothing at all about life
But from this moment of truth, though full of strife
The king, the fool, understood finally, at last
He must start over and learn more fast
If he wishes to fly, to reach heavens high
To be wise and loved, he cannot live a lie
Not knowledge he now must seek high and low
But instead he must find for himself a heart, a soul