My Will
Ice frosting this hill.
Choking and twisting my will.
Slipping I struggle to my feet.
Falling backwards,bewildered still.
Shoving myself forward ,
Allowing my love to spill,
Wind so cold and treaterous,
my spirit it stuggles to kill.
March onward;one step,two steps more.
I am not accepting warm retreat.
The end is not the final score.
Copyright © Robin Maughan | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment