The Descent

Come down from up there. That hill is to steep for me to join you. The slope is caked with slippery mud. I can't climb up there. I don't believe the structure you've built will remain on top of that hill for much longer. I saw how you built it. I watched you collect those materials. I am confident that it will not stand. You forced others to build it under the crack of your whip. You used their blood to seal your windows, their sweat to varnish your floor, and their tears to fill your sink. I'm confident it will all come tumbling down soon enough.
It is one thing to build something imperfect. It is another to lie about it. That building will not even survive a storm. The people you forced to build it, the ones who still breathe are staring up at it now. The hands that assembled are looking at it, the blood lust in their eyes. Do you know the eyes that a slave looks upon his masters possessions? You call it envy, and I laugh. Is envy the desire for equality then? I surely don't believe as much. I think they're just hungry. You did not feed them to well when you forced them to build your house.
Will you try and coerce them to plough your land, and to feed you? Will you whip them as they starve? Slaves can take the whip, but what of the masters? Will they come for you one night? Can you stand the whip? How many cracks will it take for you to understand pain?
I will sit down on the ground and watch. As your slaves rip you apart, I will laugh. They will tear down your house. Piece by piece. It sounds lovely. They will tear up your gardens. Then they will come for you. Still hungry, still abused, visible wounds laid upon their bodies by your corruption. They will tare at your flesh. Consume you. You will be nothing. Your hill, where you built that structure on so much pain will now be gone. Now I will stand up.
I will look at them. Free men. I will smile. We will together build a new structure, far away from your hill. We will share the burden together. Each drop of sweat will be spread among so many it will feel so light. There are no masters here. We are just people. Free people. The whips will be forgotten about, your hill will be laughed at. Humanity will have its kingdom.