High on my mountain you found me.

In the cave, you fell to your knees,
having chased me across continents.
For a moment, love won.
Hands entwined loosely,
we prayed together,
watching water flow from rock,
feeling the truth course through us,
a river of life superceding the river
running red through time.

You had been ready to traverse
this country, chase me to the sea
and into Spain. It didn't matter.
I could not leave love
behind or move onward,
mere soldier to the cause.
It was never a cause to me.
Rather we, in the moment unfolding,
were what mattered -- not legacy.

You couldn't hold on. Unwilling to wait,
you had your men stand at the gate,
swords drawn while you watched
in the night, tearing yourself
in two, dividing our camps,
accusing those with me
of the crime of being,
their mere existence for you
inappropriate, the harm brought
to your cause by their daring to defy
the rules doing some perceived harm,
irreparable, to the cause on which
you staked your claim.

Deep in your valley I found you.

Can we not meet now

on even ground and again
in love be found?