Echoes of Ascent
There is no summit, only the strive,
Each step a question: what keeps us alive?
The weight of shadows, the burn of fire,
A path carved from longing, shaped by desire.
Upward we go, though the ground may fray,
Through the heat of doubt and the end of day.
What drives the heart to the heights unknown,
But the pulse of a dream it calls its own?
The mountain speaks, though it has no voice,
In the silence of struggle, it offers a choice:
To yield to the pull of the weary below,
Or rise through the blaze, where the soul may grow.
This climb is not of stone and air,
But the wrestle within, the burden we bear.
For the hardest ascent is the one unseen,
Where the soul confronts what it might have been.
So we scale, not to conquer, not to claim,
But to kindle a spark, to stoke the flame.
For in the climb lies the essence we seek,