I start where earth and sky divide in haze,

the path a thread across the waking hills.

My breath runs shallow, yet I will not turn;

each step ignites a pulse of heat and will.

The climb is steep—my legs protest the weight,

but every stone I master shapes my frame.

The air grows thin; the wind becomes my foe,

yet in its sting I learn the taste of grit.

Ahead, the trail bends sharply into shade;

I feel the mind resist the unseen path.

It hunts for comfort, charts a safer way,

but I press on, and thought grows clean and bright.

Then silence comes, so deep it hums like fire,

and in that stillness something breaks and mends.

A voice I knew yet never heard speaks clear:

You are not made to stop at any wall.

And there, beyond the line I feared to cross,

I stand remade—a body forged by trial,

a mind unbound, a spirit wide with light.