Soldier of Love

I want to drag this wounded soldier of love down into the heart's embrace, beneath the beating walls far from the noise of war, and all the ideas that robbed me of my light.

Climbing to the mountain top, arrayed in all my fine armor, I exhausted myself in that rarified air of reason.

Blindly, I muscled upward toward the imagined pinnacle, a forced march, prodded  by the wounds of pride and doubt always remaining just below the intended place of victory,  always shifting just beyond reach.

In the fading light, I see now the relentless ascent was useful only for understanding that reason has no coin in the heart's realm, and that the  alure of the battle cry and promise of victory only deafened and blinded me with the illusion that soaring is better than diving.