Reason

And as I descend yet again to the desolate caverns of my heart,
I feel only a feverish dread,
At the thought of those misty peaks from which I part,
I cry out to the void ahead,
And wait alone in the merciless dark.

Truth matters not to me,
As I stand here trembling,
My legs yet waver unsteadily,
Then: Ah! What's that I see?
The spark of reason to rescue me!

It must be coaxed to a steady flame,
Lest it perish yet again,
Lost to violence, fear, and pain.
The light is frigid, brilliant, bright.
It leads me to the highest heights.

And with it I find hope.