Jocelyn Theresa Cook Poet Monorhyme

The Mountain’s Whisper

I start this climb with weary eyes,
The stones cut deep, the spirit dies.
My legs are weak, my breath is thin,
I wonder why I should begin.

The wind it pushes, knocks me back,
My hope is fading, strength I lack.
I cry, “Lord help, I cannot cope,
This mountain steals my final hope.”

I slip, I stumble, scrape my knee,
The pain consumes, it conquers me.
I whisper low, “I’ll turn around,
No summit waits, no prize is found.”

But then the earth beneath me warms,
A voice breaks through the raging storms:
“Don’t rush, don’t quit, don’t lose your way,
One step, one breath, will win the day.”

The climb is cruel, the path is long,
But hardship makes the spirit strong.
And when you stand where eagles soar,
You’ll see the worth of all you bore.

So rise again, though tired and sore,
The mountain whispers, “Climb once more.”

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