The Pinnacle
We climb to reach the pinnacle, ascending to the highest peak.
Of beauty, of grace.
The wind cuts to the bone, but not to the spirit.
Desert sands, shredding our heels and feet.
Sweltering rocks and caves, blistering our hands.
Yet, our will remains intact, our purpose, cleansed.
So we continue, we wade through the thick rotted forests.
Swimming in filth, just for a dream of a fresh breath.
We climb.
For beauty, for grace.
We climb and we keep climbing.
And there, we see it…
The white and the gold.
The silence…
The quiet halls.
Of silent songs.
Of gilded rust and dust.
Of empty thrones and unspoken lies.
We climbed and we climbed.
We suffered, we died, we transformed.
For beauty and for grace.
Tears.
Wet, clear, translucent.
Spoiling what remains.
Drip, drip, drip.
A sniffle.
Drip, drip, drip.
A sigh and a shudder.
No.
I climbed.
They climbed.
We climbed.
We ascended.
We will build, but not hallowed empty halls.
We will build, but not with quiet songs.
Not with reverence of the beyond, which never reaches back.
But with a loud chorus.
An anthem.
A sign, a shout, a scream!
A rousing ripple that becomes a wave.
To say to all.
We are here.
We ARE here.
We have climbed.
They will climb.
And we will bring our hands and voices together.
And we will create our own Paradise.
A Paradise of beating hearts,
Of soulful lives,
Of the living,
Not one, of the silent dead.
We climb to reach the pinnacle, ascending to the highest peak.
Of beauty, of grace.
The wind cuts to the bone, but not to the spirit.
Desert sands, shredding our heels and feet.
Sweltering rocks and caves, blistering our hands.
Yet, our will remains intact, our purpose, cleansed.
So we continue, we wade through the thick rotted forests.
Swimming in filth, just for a dream of a fresh breath.
We climb.
For beauty, for grace.
We climb and we keep climbing.
And there, we see it…
The white and the gold.
The silence…
The quiet halls.
Of silent songs.
Of gilded rust and dust.
Of empty thrones and unspoken lies.
We climbed and we climbed.
We suffered, we died, we transformed.
For beauty and for grace.
Tears.
Wet, clear, translucent.
Spoiling what remains.
Drip, drip, drip.
A sniffle.
Drip, drip, drip.
A sigh and a shudder.
No.
I climbed.
They climbed.
We climbed.
We ascended.
We will build, but not hallowed empty halls.
We will build, but not with quiet songs.
Not with reverence of the beyond, which never reaches back.
But with a loud chorus.
An anthem.
A sign, a shout, a scream!
A rousing ripple that becomes a wave.
To say to all.
We are here.
We ARE here.
We have climbed.
They will climb.
And we will bring our hands and voices together.
And we will create our own Paradise.
A Paradise of beating hearts,
Of soulful lives,
Of the living,
Not one, of the silent dead.
Faevale Cottage
