Tumble down the mountain, from the peak you fought so hard to climb. Over jutting stone and on through cutting thorn, again and again the mountain slain only to be reborn.
Speak the words of prayer, take up the walking staff again. The wide base beckons the sharp peak cuts the screaming windy sky. What wonders hither must lie.
I’ve known this path before, it twists and narrows and hides the dangers that seek to maul and gore.
Onward, Up and do not fall. Fail and you’ll be mourned by none but the wolf’s distant call. Seek the firm places, the memory of beloved days and smiling faces, take the hardest path for it leads aright. Weep for the pain for there are none to judge beneath the black sky at night.
Strive now and stay the course. Patience will serve you over force. I know the cold bites deep. I know you see the scythe bearer waiting your soul to reap.
Defy him. The soft, false words of rest and comfort now deny. See the end in sight. Your own heart must choose to reach it or die.
The stumbling step, the first upon the apex. Now the pain and weight falls away. Your fire in the circle lay. Light it bright, glaring out into the night. Let all who see know that one more time you have scaled the mountain’s height.
Then to rest, your hurts to tend and waking find you once again at the mountain’s foot where only just the land begins to bend.
Ever is the mountain there, its shadow long upon the land. The climb ends, only when angels take you in the night.