The Fires He Lit

He forged his name in battle’s glow,
A legend told where wanderers go.
With every deed, a brighter flame,
Yet one alone would fan his name.

Her shadow lingered, faint yet true,
A fleeting star in morning’s hue.
Through storms and stone, his journey turned,
For eyes unseen, for touch he yearned.

The halls of kings held golden cheer,
Their songs of him rang loud and clear.
But in the quiet, he would dream,
Of distant shores and silver gleam.

Did she not hear the tales unfold?
The ballads sung, the banners bold?
Or did her silence softly keep,
A guarded watch, a quiet deep?

And still he rose, a beacon high,
A tower etched against the sky.
For every heart he turned to fire,
Was but a step toward his desire.

One eve, a whisper reached his ear,
Of one who walked in shadows near.
Her laugh, a thread, her gaze, a spark—
A map that led through growing dark.

So still he climbed, though faintly worn,
The fire bright, the promise born.
For just ahead, beyond the mist,
He swore he saw her—close as this.