There is no question that the wind is strong
and heavy as it pushes back my best
attempts at moving forward. What is wrong
with stopping now, forever? Life at rest
is not the life I choose. So fuck the wind,
and fuck the heavy strength of moving air.
I also move, but by my will ascend;
the wind’s oblivious to risk, to dare.
It mocks in one direction, so I turn
and place it’s mockery against my back.
I have the choice to simply coast or burn
this tailwind down a hill of blurring black.
My rising strength is in my will, my mind,
and there is strength within me, undefined.