My heart has become gaunt of fate,
My traipsing twisted;
The air leaves my chest like
Misted life at the Gate;
A rain-whisperer chastised by the sun for his chant—
I can’t recall, and am of too little strength to recant,
The footstrikes that’ve chipped me away,
Cracked the day, come what has—
With its vernal and evicting warmth.
I’ve beaten back and angry-stirred the swarm
Of sibilating voices;
I’ve been lost to their lull
And, by that hull, spirited to where Denali
Dips to kiss my coldish crown,
As she rips the blanket-sky from me.
I faint to tickle her icy toes,
She knows to laugh me when I’m down;
And to chill my marrow-bone
Until the hurt hurries on,
Leaving me healingly alone,
Bare-naked and broken-strewn along her rocky scree—
Renewed at null.
Play this, as well, if music is your thing:
—from MoonRacer, a fellow and much more accomplished composer than I am. You can catch more of his absolutely fantastic stuff here: https://soundcloud.com/moonracer-1