High on the hill I spied
a light upon the rocky crag.
Up I climbed the twisted path
tripping on the blackened slag.
What drew me nigh I cannot say
yet further did I scale.
As I neared that lofty tor
there rang a mournful wail.
I cast my hands against my head
to block that wicked shriek,
and tried to call for mercy
but found I could not speak.
There I lay in numbing fear
when silence gripped the night.
No sound except my pounding heart,
I closed my eyes in fright.
Trembling there I felt a chill
that crept into my bones.
The voice that had deserted me
now spewed out woeful moans.
Prayers my mother taught me
I repeated like a child.
What madness had possessed me
and brought me to this wild.
Sounds of something moving
behind the jagged rocks,
slowly coming closer,
my legs became unlocked.
Leaping unabandoned
near flying did I flee,
down that dark and twisted path
I ran or crept on knee.
To the bottom of that horrid hill
my bleeding feet arrived.
No dreams I held of beauty,
just the lust to stay alive.
Then risking just one glance
my tearful eyes turned toward that height,
and unable to control myself
back I walked into that light.
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