Against the Wind - Martin Wiles

Against the Wind

Round yon mountain, high and frail—

the wind against my back,

the cold beside my skin,

I traversed the lonesome trail.

Feet trudging o’er rocks and skin—

toes cramped against the walls,

hands numb within the fingers,

I kept my pace against the wind.

Breath pounding within the pen,

I kept my sight between my eyes,

knowing one slip would end

my flight—against the wind.

At last, my dark gave way to shine—

a calm overtook the sky,

and I sat down to contemplate

until next I fought against the wind. 

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