Somehow

I've been climbing up

this mountain for a while now.

I throw pebbles and rocks

down,

hoping they'll find

whatever

is following me

and end the

presence of those fangs

trying to gnaw at me

The summit is still a long way off,

but I'm nothing if not

motivated.

I've decided I'll reach it and,

by God,

I will.

Somehow

I can hear them getting closer,

grunting and huffing.

I can imagine

them pawing at my back,

desperately

trying to catch hold of me

But I'm way ahead of them,

in every way.

I left a day earlier

and I am so much smarter,

or at least that's what

I tell myself

as I curl up into

a ball in my tent at night,

hoping to fall asleep

and find some warmth,

somehow.

My life is but a tired

metaphor,

but I carry on

and indeed do try

to keep calm,

but deep down I know

that the beasts

do not sleep at night,

the beasts

do not feel the cold

and,

one day soon,

any minute now,

they will be upon

me

and the last thing

I'll see will be the snow-capped

peak,

so close I could touch it.

But, as everything ends up being,

well,

it'll be over for good,

as I always

knew it would,

somehow.