Destination

The one who slept
Was not the one
Who woke up
With a dream
That did not
Look like one
Fabricated like the others
In the fever of the night
This was a destination
Yet to get its name
A place, a hill rather
That had to be found
Climbed and conquered
A vision that signaled
A turnaround in the journey
Frenetic, restless, ritualistic, so far
On the beaten path
Under a merciless sun
This would be made all alone
But for the one, beside one
Scattering the darkness, before one
Till there was none, or just one