Take that feeling of hopelessness
And wipe it from your face
That frown will get you nowhere,
And yet nowhere you will go.
Listen to the snow that breathes
On this glacial mountaintop.
The summit watches you, and it
Laughs at your marked cowardice.
It is telling you to turn away,
For the God that rests atop this crest
Holds a crown of blizzards,
The blood of dragons on his collar.
Slicing open the girths of faeries
That bleed harsh cold and despair.
A boya saplinga man like you
Could never brave the victorious screams.
You trudge onwards, yet,
Like the fool that you are.
Can you hear that sound, above
This blistering hurricane of ice?
It is him, and he is roaring,
Cackling at your vain cries and struggles.
He taunts you with his voice, daring you
To reach the top and touch him.
The exit is a solace to the scorching,
But you are not alone.
Upon this mountaintop, you have
Not even one,
He is in the distance, and yet