Zenith

An approaching gentleman
Brilliant, the goal lies before him.
Chalices come and go.
Death is but a feather, duty, a mountain.
Eternal in span his quest has been.
Fharlanghn's harbinger.
Gently, he reaches forth,
Hand hesitating only briefly before grasping.
Inquiry, voiced aloud,
"Just this?"
Keening, his soul dies once again
Laughing, his body falls to the ground
Maniacally, his muscles twitch as he lies there.
Now he has no goal in life.
Only desire for an end that will not come.
Perhaps some noble knight will slay him?
Queer to consider? Perhaps.
Reasonable? Doubtful.
Sadly, he knows of no other exit.
That is, none that is feasible.
Underneath him, the ground grows cold.
Vindictive, it awakes him.
With nothing else to do, he continues on his quest.
"X" is the constant of his life.
Yearning for that elusive end.
Zenith.