We will call this a cliffhanger,
a mere echo from atop a
blizzard-induced scaling;
bundled in gear to last an
entire year, or two, a week?
You’re not sure anymore.

‘You’ve got to come down,’
sounds the wind in whisper,
that same buzzing ‘why’ you
keep passing off as madness,
‘eventually you’ll freeze.’

Yet up at this altitude, bitter
weather warps your tone,
your blood begins to cool,
the hiss of frostbite fuels you,
‘My own body has kept me
warmer than the rest of you,

but even the experienced fall
to madness with lack of oxygen;
you cannot scale life’s cliff alone,
the nights are far colder and
the flesh of heart freezes like ice.

– B.

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