It is only proportional like a
Staircase winding up a castle turret
One step at a time, they are elevated

Sometimes the architect will add platforms
Where the weary can rest, hands on knees
No railing and seldom are there windows

Rumors escalate with the ascension
There is no end to this, no final crenellations or
Apex that reveals a vast horizon of perfect bright air

It might have great altitude, or it might not
You may end at some mid-point and make it your home
With bedroll and small containers of water

You may expect to find a platform for leaping
Without shock or scream, just a sigh of relinquishment
Or it may be a room, that can be simply walked into.