Has the wind knocked my feet down...
Scuffed at the ends - worn out - beaten old shoes, the soles can no longer sustain.

And the sun beats on my cheek, the climb, infested with gravel - smothered in dirt

A shout from above says looking down is only your perspective, a fools trick to our mind.

A shout in exclamation marks.

Running away from the echo of the past.
Sweat dripping, in splatters like drops - each drop a thought

Floating in space and time - your frustration wound up in a second.
Where does it drop?

A climb, claw - tear..... running into the mountain.
To fight against the battle
That stays quietly, patiently above you.