The Chosen One
Poetry in motion, an ideal out of reach,
Radiant in its glory, an impossible hill to climb;
Its form towered over me high and proud,
Yet it had an allure I could simply not explain.
Any resistance only delayed the inevitable emotional tsunami.
Legends speak of it as all but an illusion;
A false panacea for the evils of the self and the world.
Knowing it all, I pursued the elusive enigma,
Step-by-step, onward I did march,
Honing in on the treacherous peak.
Mud and grime adorned my worn out torso.
It was a journey through hell in search of an answer,
Maybe this was what it meant to be the alpha.
Obstacles emerged on my path causing hurt and pain,
However, in the end, I came out the last man standing.
At last at the top I looked upon my blood soaked arena,
Never to forget I was the one who was chosen.
