On my recent visit to the Peak District, my imagination took me to the top of one of the great tors...
I want
To climb
And scramble,
Haul myself
Up to the top
Though knees rebel
And muscles shriek
And heart and lungs complain.
I want
To climb
And reach the top,
And stand upright
With arms outstretched
Into the wind’s roaring mouth
And let it sweep right through me,
Little puny me.
I want
To stand upright
With arms outstretched
And feel the wind rip from me
The bellow, roar,
The gut-deep cry that longs
To be let loose upon the air and sky
And up to God himself.
I want
To stand and roar
With all my might,
My pain, my grief,
My fierce despair,
My love, my dreams,
My rage, frustration,
To purge myself into the gale.
I want
To roar and shout
And simply fling
Myself and all I feel
Into the ripping wind,
To be swept up
And swept away
And yet, to stand.
I want
To stand
In all my smallness
On this height,
And still to know
That I can stand,
Be fierce, be loud,
And find my strength.
I want
To know that I am strong
And show it,
To stand on rock,
Resist like rock,
And hold my ground
And shout my voice
And take my place.
(Image by Graham Hoster from Pixabay.)
Comments