Walpurgis

I stand at the foot of destiny mountain.
Epiphany:
      Nice here. Scary there.
      Flat here, and easy.
      Hard work to climb the mountain called Destiny.

I stand at the foot of the mountain.
Finally! I've waited for this,
But black clouds swarm all 'round.
Disharmony:
      Winds are from black-winged things.
      Rock-jawed storm cloud, not rain.
      Phosphor-eyes menace the mountain of cacophony.

Shall I stay here in the eddy of what I know?
Shall I banish my chance to grow?
      Nice here. Scary there.
      Flat here, and easy.
      Hard work to climb the mountain called Destiny.

If I go, then I go.
      Heave-ho and heigh-de-ho.
      And I won't know -- CAN'T know -- what will be.
      If I know what's next on my climb,
      It isn't growth.

If I stay, it is easy.
If I go, I won't know.
      Not for sure.
      Maybe, but not for sure.
      I may slip. I may fall.
      It may rain a waterfall.
      Or to and fro.
      But not to know.
      Or rain comes and I swim.
      Or wind comes and I fly.

Destiny Mountain is my Dark Night,
and I am the cloud of unknowing.

So I step, and what do you know:
Something new appears.
Very new and pop-eyed amazing.

Each step for me creates what was not before.
I have something more than plain metaphor.
      I don't think, I pursue.
      I don't know, but I do.
      And with each step, I create anew.