I climbed the steep, and ate the apple on my way up, dragging thy sword behind me with my free arm.

I slip and crack thy knee. And it bleeds over the thin road up the mount. The blood is pulled slowly down, making a red tear upon the mount.

I hear a sandy guitar as I lay there, and a tear leaves my eye. The music therein forces my stand. I kept walking, despite the path narrowing and narrowing.

A blood trail was left behind with the large gap in my wabbling knee. I was limping up to the sun. For a reason, I felt I should reach the top before nightfall. Tears filled my eyes with the overwhelming pain. Sand was in my wound.

It grow harder the further I trekked. But I didn't want to stop. I didn't stop. But there was only so much will within me. I passed, but the man from before was waiting behind. He was proud at my will to climb, yet I only made it part way up.

I felt overwhelmed with shame. Shame I could not undo. But he didn't mind. He lightly picked me up, and hoisted me onto his shoulder. The metal was warm and comforting, even though I couldn't stop crying as he took me back down the mountain.

I tried so hard, but I was not yet ready. The old man already knew this...