Pity Not

I climb mountains.
That's just what I do.
I've made so many
of my own,
this much is true.

Some get steeper,
as the years roll on,
the one this day,
has steepness,
like none 
I've happened upon.

A mountain I've made,
a mountain I climb,
I demand no pity,
Just give me some time.

Some time to undo,
those things in the past.
That a child-like mind,
never thought 
would really last.

I forge ahead,
looking to the top,
but this day, these years,
has me begging to stop.

Fruitless and hopeless,
it truly seems,
I wish for the valleys,
that exists in my dreams.

Here I am,
as I am every year,
looking up at,
the Goliath;
this mountain I fear.

Yet I envision
her beautiful face,
her genuine regard,
her bitterness;
not a trace.

And at once 
I am renewed,
but the question remains;
How is it 
she forgives,
this mountain I've made?

Her grace only adds
to the steepness ahead.
yet...
the silence today,
is the steepness
I dread.

Steepness brought upon
by my selfish past,
I climb alone,
because it's
the mold that I cast.

Some seek the valleys,
those wise, those few,
I climb mountains,
because that's just what I do.