Through Chains That Drag Us Downward Xanthochroid

So, it must be true
Few are worthy of its weight
Few are meant to know
What the ancients knew

And fewer, still
Dare to test their will
Few possess the strength
Timid and tame, but I

I would return this race to its former glory!
I have seen the crumbling face of our gilded past;
Wind-worn monuments , of a more glorious age
Mock us with their unchang’d stare

How can we know what wonders came before us?
I long to feel that power which lies dormant in our blood

As they assembled, this gleaming precipice
Reaching high, above the clouds

How many lifetimes would I waste
Trying to reach its top
Clutching its edges, higher still
Grasping at the hair-like roots
That grow out from the cracks
Only to swipe through the open air
And fall again and again
What sort of creature am I?