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A path, ever bending
In shadows, unending
Lays now ahead on this spire, ascending
to wreathed peak unseen,
this monolith, mighty,
invites one to dare, to climb
One by one,My feet draw me on,
The slope ever steepens,
With each footfall gone,
Silent this trail,
Yet thought, silence breeds,
Turbid mind, Troubled; I climb

Black are my thoughts
and black is this spire
this mountain, my anvil
my thoughts are as fire.
What shall be wrought
when summit is reached?
What shall await
atop silent peak?

Chilling snow, fully encompassed
trees are as wraiths, forms twist and fade
now left behind, above the tree line
a face hewn of stone; onwards I climb!
My body protests
but pain holds no weight
the path here is sheer
the summit draws near.
In ruin this slope, echoes borne of stone
among this dead rock
I am alone!

A clarity of vision and mind unclouded
grant unto me
The peak yields solace
and wisdom unbound
yet given not freely
to walk in the shade
of this mountain dark
a mortal forge
beaten and hammered
to form new perspective
new strength
from powers old
taken from this welcome cold
atop this spire silent!

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