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The range reaches round
Wrapped in a coat of grey,
It smothers the mountain,
A horseshoe hoof
Locked in a murky embrace.
All here is alien,
One rock stands upright at the summit,
Ice has frozen its daggers to one side.
It is all to hold onto,
The weapons shatter at the grasp.
The ridge is bare,
Bereft of shelter, sign of life,
The stone stands, a pagan spearhead
Thrust at the heavens,
That threatens to skewer the sky into two.


1 Howard | on 14 January 2012

this is excellent

2 Tom John Rose | on 20 January 2012

nice work. i know the exact upright rock you’re on about !

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