Pulled toward the cliff wall by fear, and pulled down below by thrill,
the trembling breath of Seraphineia replicated the mountain’s rumble,
a mighty roar, lost to the vastness of Olympus’ altitude, mourned, producing a catastrophe that nearly snuffed her dreams and caused them to crumble.
She laughed, panicked through tears, watching the indistinct forms of grey clouds whirling by,
contemplating if it’s better to jump than to fall, washing away with the landslide.

Her heart deflated and swelled; quarrelling with grief over love left behind, and the unknown crying out for discovery.
Out onto the overhang, with nothing to shield her from the pull of the wind, her torch was snuffed and dragged to her knees,
in a desperate attempt, she grasped her torch between her legs and dug her nails into the terrain,
to keep her grounded, to be saved from losing herself again.

Seraphineia curled up in the burrow where she was born,
not anymore stronger, and still resentfully unadorned,
but only one more darkness needs to pass,
then the light shall return her fight.