Sparkatale

I sleep,

When the frost coats over me,

My breath turns blue,

And my eyes films over

with the ice.

 

I lie dead

in this hibernation of a thousand years,

This rest of nations,

This trap of silken nets.

 

I draw the cold into my lungs,

Ache for the hard ground that drives

it’s sharp edges into my back,

I am a corpse,

Lying six feet under this snow,

But still I breathe,

Still I know the passages of the seasons.

 

Rest now,

Those who are below,

Rest safe in your valley,

You thought won,

 Rest safe and

never, ever look at theses ice coated peaks.

The avalanche, when it comes, is small,

Just a disrupting of the mountains’ caps

Just a slight motion, soon halted,

Just the shifting of six feet of ice and snow.

 

Watch out for me below,

My breath blows white thought these blue lips,

But my bones are thawing,

The steel in my hand is real,

The mountain that has kept me all this time,

Sure under my feet.

 

We are an army,

Hidden above you,

Above your safe hollow,

Our long hibernation is over,

The real avalanche is ready

to come rolling down

And we will cover everything with the pale of death.