Poetry

Climb


Crisp, clean air biting my neck,
as I continue down a path
twisting around gnarled logs.
Some lay mangled around me,
looking displaced in a sea of stone and earth.
Walls of rock, painted with moss from the sun,
jut out from the side of the mountain;
challenging me to walk closer to the edge.
I try to avoid the moist soil,
soft from spring rain,
that compresses easily under my weight
while jumping from rock to rock.
Here my rushing thoughts are meaningless.

Prompt: Meaningless