Disturbed by the wind that rustles my hair
like life that upsets soul’s goal to the end
there still is a whisper amidst the turmoil
that speaks of a peace before the night falls.
Disturbed by a love that came and then went
like a risen up hope foiled by events
there yet remains the recall of it all
to sustain in the times of despondency.
Disturbed by the rain that cautions my step
like pain that takes too long to be gone
there still is a pause to contemplate
where next on earth I am destined for.
Disturbed, disturbed; why am I disturbed
when the day becomes night and life becomes death
if not for the fact that mind deep in thought
may cause the repeat of … disturbances.
I can stand in the wind, stand in the rain,
remember that love and all of my hopes
but I must not forget to climb the mountain
that leaves level ground behind my back.
I know, I know, but how can I climb
when I plain and simply haven’t learnt how?