It is another morning and you walk.
Always uphill. More tiring than it should be,
rarely finding the pinnacle,
your legs heavy as your soul,
for it is in the walking,
in the always up,
that strength is found.
About this poem
I say it often, people who suffer from depression and anxiety and other sufferings of the mind and heart are often the strongest people I know. It’s hard work.
Oh yeah, it can also be a poem about walking.