His breath runs cold
his spikes grip tight
the ice that tries
to hug him tight
eternal slumber
softly whispers
wind, no longer
in existence
no rope, no coat
just deep inside
a little light
that's all he ever wanted
The mountaineer
PoetryThis site is under construction. Where the text sounds like Claude, it was written by Claude. I'll rewrite it by hand. Code of honor.