Writers’ Weir: Comforted

I cry out

as I fall again.

Wounded, bleeding,

moaning in pain.

Still so far to go.

Steep mountains are my only sights

behind the mossy trees.

Nothing to hold onto but thorny bushes.

Each step is treacherous.

I crawl.

Don’t know what follows –

a sharp rock or cliff?

No, I don’t want to fall!

But I need to keep going.

Giving up is never my call.

There’s been no path on this journey,

but as I look back, I see

I’ve been making a trail.

Stock image.