The summit

Cold wind blew south,
Tiny icicles clutching his beard,
Mist of breath trailing away behind,
As he stood on top, alone.

The countless steps taken,
The sacrifices, the pain,
All seemed a distant dream,
Neither pain nor joy touched him now.

The journey was gruelling,
The race intense,
Breathless, he had never looked back,
The white peaks had filled his eyes.

Had given up all he held,
The laughs, the love, and life.
Pushed by a force unseen
He had just kept climbing.

And there he was,
Amidst the soft snow beneath
And sun kissed peaks afar,
There he felt the pointlessness of it all.

With the race over, he breathed again,
Why had he climbed the heavens thus?
At heights which no other can scale, he realised,
Only loneliness await those who reach the top.