Here I stand, the one above all.
No one above me, yet still I feel small.
Born rich, sheltered life.
Constant boredom, internal strife.
I set down the quill. That worked, right? Poetry seemed to be an option worthy of one as high of stature as myself. But... was it enough?
A man, raised for the sole purpose of ruling. That's what I am. That's what I was. That's... what I must be.
Yet, day after day, nothing comes to pass. The world is at peace. I am but a figurehead; the representative of all. I have no trades. No true interest, be it hobby or career. To be neutral is my task, day after day.
I have to be this man.
Nobody else can replace me. Everybody else has tried.
And so day after day, I wake and do nothing. It is my job, after all.
Yet... I still long for excitement, deep within me. The idea of grandiose adventures, or perhaps of meeting new people--it entices me. I want to do something. Be someone.
But I cannot.
I'm not allowed to.
I wasn't born to be that.
The Jack of No Trades. That's who I am. The Master of All. That is me as well. The two work hand-in-hand; specialize in nothing--that is the way. That is how I maintain neutrality. They call me a living god; one who stands above the humdrum of so-called 'normal' life. But they do not understand that I am sick of this false godhood. Just for a day, or even an hour, perhaps, I wish to stand amongst the crowd. I wish to fade into obscurity, to flit between the shadows. To be a nobody. To be a somebody.
To finally be a Jack of One Trade.
But even then, I would not know what such a trade would be. These words flow like waves; they come and go, bringing me hope with their crests, and despair with their troughs.
Every utterance of these wishes I hold must be counteracted with doubt.
It is, after all, the only way I know.
And so continues my life as the Jack of No Trades, Master of All.