Song/poem thing

His Skin was Covered in a Golden Sheen

I’d been standing there with a widening stare
Looking up at the place for so long,
I’d almost given up a long time ago
They said it didn’t matter but I had to know.

My gaze fell on the windows which reflected the trees.
I watched the perpetual curtain of swiftly spinning leaves
As they fell in and around
The river that flowed
Under the bridge
Ornate, and intricate
Covered in carvings
Of counterfeit grace
That directed my eyes
Through the use of their lines
Back up to the building
That clouded the sight.

My gaze fell on the windows which now I could see,
Were framed with gold and ivory.
I watched my approach in their gilded frames,
Over the bridge despite their designs
I now looked at the door with my purpose in mind.

Through the door, a hundred feet tall,
Erected so, to make men feel small.
But I care not for the machinations,
Of architects,
Long passed on…
So on I went, into the hall.

Floors of ruby and walls of jade,
Emerald lamps with topaz shades,
Got in the way of the building itself.
Which, despite the grand display,
Was nothing special in any way.

Through forty halls and forty doors
I finally found what I was looking for.
A room beset with cast off projections
Sacredized, sanctified, predilections
Of recollections personified by the crowd suspended there…

Each was on a pedestal of varying height
I went to the back and with all my might
And shattered the proverbial platter He was laid upon,
Like a meal, made to be picked at or rejected,
Accepted or amended,
So as to fit the constitutions of those that perfected the world.

He lay there…
Among the shattered remains
Made of repeated refrains and children’s stories,
Tall tales and allegories.

I stood him up (He was as tall as me)
I looked at him and could almost see…
But no, there was just a little more to go.

His skin was covered in a golden sheen, which I wiped away as best I could,
And finally he stood before me.
And I loved him all the more.

I could see the scars on his face, misplaced thoughts, so common place
Indecision, misdirection
I could see his imperfection.
And I loved him all the more.

Nothing changed, I was just as before.
The score had always been the same,
One to one,
I just thought his was the better one.
And I was-him all the more.

My fumbling nobility was no longer a tragedy,
But an inherent certainty.
And, by extension, You, Me,
Us, We,