This would be that day of reckoning, descending into that darken craven of eternal discovery, the sting in this mornings freezing wind dipped, the cruelty that is the task master’s whip, my eyes searched inward in solitude, the magnitude of securing the required fortitude.
That grayish dark dotted moon on the horizon give notice, live or die but it would not record this, this hellishly white bone chilling barren valley called out each of our names, a valid threat! that their would be regret.
Pushing on this single file line of defiance, burning legs above numbing feet that were still compliant, now lashed by the momentum of ill-tempered winds sweeping down a mountain ridge, the rotation in its revolutions that’s dread! could surly rise the dead, ever onward as apathy gave way to arrogance! such courageousness was a little extravagant.
The pain began to cut deep already bypassing degradation, on to dismounting my frail imagination! oh pretty pictures in my hallucinations, the dancing images on the mountain and their hostile integrations, grudging on ward like a rat pack holding on to useless relics! we were walking Zealots.
No longer a cohesive operation, long pass conservative observations, nothing left for conservation, Pushed passed desperation! locked into deprivation with no thought of deactivation, the spirit of man forged in isolation is now ready for the Transformation!