Thursday, January 1, 2015

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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