Ascension

The warrior ascends, condemned,
with solemn air around him.
The jungle below: a hushed, pulsating power.
The weathered stones beneath his feet weep for him.
The harvest moon herself weeps for him;
he has loved her well.
His legs scream for him to turn,
his feet ache to flee.
Back home. Back to the embrace he craves so much.
But on his stone face, a ghost of a smile dances.
As the air thins, his smile grows.
He climbs ever upward, ever higher.
How much sweeter the return, victorious
How much more passionate the embrace,
if the summit is vanquished.
The sky cannot hold her lament, rain pours, and he grins.
He gains the zenith.
Awaiting him: a lone candle, shining in the torrent.
Understanding floods him: there is no end, there is no return.
There is only forward. And with every step: love.
The warrior, still smiling, closes his eyes.
Faith unwavering, he leaps.