Descending down the mountain
I start to feel the damp, warm breath of death.
Its presence growing closer, taunting me
pinning me against myself.
I’m fearful in these surroundings;
I don’t want to be here.
But how could I ever belong up there?
I look at the mountain top — It’s thin, crisp air.
I trudge deeper in the valley.
I fear death has found me —
grabbing and pulling. There’s darkness all around me.
The air so thick and warm, tastes like blood’s in my mouth.
Light goes out.
I strike a match — a desperate hesitation,
smell the flint and watch the stick burn to ash.
Lights out again. Will death win? I still descend.
So close now, I feel death’s final distraction.
I raise my head in search for one last glint.
My eyes rest on all that’s left — a tiny circle of light.
Its beam pointing in my direction.
I follow it to my right —
a spotlight on an empty space next to me.
How did I not see?
This realization is his grand entrance.
I know He is with me.
No fear shall keep me in this valley.
As I walk on as the light gradually opens, surrounds me.
It consumes me. I am moving
up the mountain. I can see. I can breathe.
My life in my lungs. Exhalation of joy, I sing.