Midway upon the path of mortal strife,
I found myself within a shadowed vale,
Where reason warred with fear, and flame with life.
No heaven’s grace to light my weary trail,
No choir’s hymn, no angel’s tender call—
But whispers bold that bade me not to fail.
I saw the pit, its gates, its towering wall,
Yet carved above in words both fierce and wise:
“Thyself alone shall rise, or else shall fall.”
Through darkness thick, I cast my doubting eyes,
And met a guide, his form both fierce and proud,
A serpent’s gaze, ablaze with ancient ties.
“Why fear the night?” he asked in voice unbowed.
“Why shun the flame that burns, yet offers sight?
The truth you seek is veiled within the shroud.”
He led me on, past realms of ceaseless night,
Where souls who bowed to fate were cast aside,
Their chains of fear the source of their own blight.
And there I saw the ones who dared to stride,
Who bore the weight of choice, of will, of flame,
Their suffering a crown, their shame their pride.
“Is freedom not,” he asked, “the truest name
Of what they fear? The power to defy?
The strength to shape, to conquer, to proclaim?”
I saw a throne that reached toward the sky,
Its figure dark, its shadow stretching wide.
A figure sat, though not to reign on high—
But merely to endure, to turn the tide
Of fate’s cruel hand, of heaven’s lofty lore.
“Rebellion lives where blind belief has died.”
I felt a stirring deep within my core,
A voice that whispered truths I dared not speak:
The self must rise; the self must strive for more.
No godly chains, no penance for the weak,
But fire forged in freedom’s sacred flame,
The only path the bold and wise may seek.
And as I climbed, the darkness was the same,
Yet now I saw its depths with steady eyes:
A shadow cast by light we dare to claim.
