Not a thunderstorm. Not a typhoon.
I'm hiking in the hill.
Alone, with bread, a toast.
'The cold is awful'
I shiver, and quiver at my fingers tip.
Gesticulate like a tree.
And it's extremely hurt.
Though I’m depressed.
I smile and wave.
This, is my trip.
I'm a step closer to get it.
Though, it's too high.
I won't deny sometimes I cry
I rest for a while,
and walk again till I'm up high.
I smile with teary eyes.
Though I'm very cold covered with ice,
I'm still grateful even though it’s painful
and when this trip will end
this, and this, I will surely bend.
Copyright @2012 Lanzskie. All rights reserved.
The Author's Other Hubs
- A Poem: The Dream
At 19, I had a dream. There’s two-way roads. Mysterious. Silent. Other with deafening sounds. I turned my torch on. Observing things around. Where am I? It’s midnight. I’m nowhere to find.
- A Poem: A Painter
Don’t underestimate the things you can accomplish. Don’t compare yourself to others. Don’t let your blooming flowers turn to gray. ...because you can always do better, and comparing yourself to others is to insult yourself. Dream, stay focus and alwa
- My First Ever Poem in the UK: The Impossible Dream
I woke up early and in a blue the morning. Spreading both hands and a big yawn. And I ate crakes with milk. At first I thought everything was a dream. I realised I wasn’t. I am living on my dreams.
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