If I climb this hill,
will you come with me?
Will you hold my hand
when my burdens get heavy?
Will you lighten my load?
When my heart bleeds,
will you embrace me
and tell me all will be fine?
If I take to the valleys,
will you come with me?
Will you guide me
through the twisting turns
that befall me?
If I become lost,
will you be my compass
and guide me back to the right path?
If I step into these caverns of darkness,
will you come with me?
Will you hold a light so I can see my way?
Will you call to me,
and guide me to the path to your home?
Please—come with me,
and show me the way.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 4:54 AM UTC
If I climb this hill,
will you come with me?
Will you hold my hand
when my burdens get heavy?
Will you lighten my load?
When my heart bleeds,
will you embrace me
and tell me all will be fine?
If I take to the valleys,
will you come with me?
Will you guide me
through the twisting turns
that befall me?
If I become lost,
will you be my compass
and guide me back to the right path?
If I step into these caverns of darkness,
will you come with me?
Will you hold a light so I can see my way?
Will you call to me,
and guide me to the path to your home?
Please—come with me,
and show me the way.
A quiet vow of companionship becomes deeper when we realise the real question isn’t just “will you come with me?” but who we’re asking. This poem searches for the one presence—human, spiritual, or remembered—whose guidance and steady hand we trust when hills rise, valleys twist, and darkness opens. It’s an invitation to walk beside us and reveal who we hope will answer, made more poignant by my first draft scribbled as a soldier on the line.
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