The air is cold and dens, I can fell my lugs give way with every step I make.
My breath is short my vision is cloudy, the hair on my head is frozen I pull it over in hope to warm my face but it broke off in one large Ice cube.
Blue Mountain I thought you where nice, but I was wrong your a baster of hate.
I lid down to rest on your blue snow top. I never awoke up my body is still their many come and never stop to say a few parting words, you are a baster of an mountain
Author notes
The coldness of peoples hearts can be as climbing a mountain a
A contest entry
- THERE ARE MOUNTAINS I WILL NEVER CLIMB, BUT THEN THERE ARE MANY I WILL by Swan song.
900 points, ended August 7, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What's is your first thought's
Comments
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very nice a few misspellings but well thought out thank you for your entry
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