I was running,
a hundred miles an hour,
up a steep, harsh mountain.
But I was running home.
It lay before me,
Anticipating my arrival.
It was right there.
Within my grasp,
Within my reach.
True joy lying right before my very eyes.
I reached out,
To touch it in wonder
And taste its sweetness.
I was here,
At the top of this mountain climb.
The tough climb behind me so distant
The wind blew.
I blew hard,
In violent gusts.
I struggled to hold my ground.
And then I was falling
Lying at the bottom of this mountain
Again.
Without the strength to climb back up.
Author notes
I like the idea of this poem but I don't like the way it came out. I rewrote it three times and I still don't like it! Please give me honest feedback thanks so much!
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