I
Winter's fog swirling,
settling gently on the peak.
Should I,
or should I not charge the beast?
Oh, but to climb,
that serpentine road
through this thick mystical Merlinesque brume.
II
I abandon all reasoning
and don my armor
to do battle with the slithering Wyvern,
"The Pinnacle".
My silver Steed awaits me.
And in almost Ninja attire,
helmet placed,
cleats clicked and locked into pedals,
I am one with my ride.
III
Mist now's upon me.
Mist and bone cold.
I trek upward to the proving ground.
Drifting,
as always, into a trance,
a meditation,
ignoring pain as a pugilist.
Shut up legs, I say.
Shut up and give me one more day.
Prompt me not
that I am the aged Warrior,
for with every cadence I am reminded
of my fleeting days.
IV
I crawl upon the spine of the dragon,
out of my saddle and with the fullness of might,
break loose from the fetters of the mundane,
habitual world below these clouds.
V
Mist to rain,
rain to ice.
Diamond hard shards of sleet
bounce off my helmet,
peppering this snaking path towards heaven.
Crystalline obstacles
to navigate on my surly descent.
VI
I have owned this battle before you know?
Many times past.
But like a moment,
it can't be possessed.
Still this right of passage I must pursue
over and over and over
til I am no more
and my steed has been pawned.
VII
So quiet now
high above the clouds,
so alone,
so away from the world.
What solace.
Oh, to die here.
To fall and lay, looking up at these leafless trees,
on this gray Winter's day.
And to witness my last peacefilled thought.
VIII
But not today.
No, not today
for I am near the precipice.
I step up the pace and route the enemy
and laugh in deaths face.
One more stroke, and I gut the beast.
One more turn and I am exultant.
Oh Rapture,
Oh Felicity.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 2:05 AM UTC
I
Winter's fog swirling,
settling gently on the peak.
Should I,
or should I not charge the beast?
Oh, but to climb,
that serpentine road
through this thick mystical Merlinesque brume.
II
I abandon all reasoning
and don my armor
to do battle with the slithering Wyvern,
"The Pinnacle".
My silver Steed awaits me.
And in almost Ninja attire,
helmet placed,
cleats clicked and locked into pedals,
I am one with my ride.
III
Mist now's upon me.
Mist and bone cold.
I trek upward to the proving ground.
Drifting,
as always, into a trance,
a meditation,
ignoring pain as a pugilist.
Shut up legs, I say.
Shut up and give me one more day.
Prompt me not
that I am the aged Warrior,
for with every cadence I am reminded
of my fleeting days.
IV
I crawl upon the spine of the dragon,
out of my saddle and with the fullness of might,
break loose from the fetters of the mundane,
habitual world below these clouds.
V
Mist to rain,
rain to ice.
Diamond hard shards of sleet
bounce off my helmet,
peppering this snaking path towards heaven.
Crystalline obstacles
to navigate on my surly descent.
VI
I have owned this battle before you know?
Many times past.
But like a moment,
it can't be possessed.
Still this right of passage I must pursue
over and over and over
til I am no more
and my steed has been pawned.
VII
So quiet now
high above the clouds,
so alone,
so away from the world.
What solace.
Oh, to die here.
To fall and lay, looking up at these leafless trees,
on this gray Winter's day.
And to witness my last peacefilled thought.
VIII
But not today.
No, not today
for I am near the precipice.
I step up the pace and route the enemy
and laugh in deaths face.
One more stroke, and I gut the beast.
One more turn and I am exultant.
Oh Rapture,
Oh Felicity.
Harrogate, TN March 2012
Request permission to use this poem