I woke up thinking about mountains and how I'd love to compose a pome about a mountain, a loved one, and me - this is a diversion in a kinda loose sonnetry stylee :)
Since man ‘conquered’ Chumo-Langma,
prayer flags still flap and temple bells chime praises.
A defile of climbers queues ‘to summit’ and
transmit a video to family and chums,
‘Top of the World, Ma! The view is awesome!’
If cylinders register ‘Oxygen low’
the breathless curse the cold-slow climb-down,
stagger the waste of ice-block corpses,
squat in the litter of trail mix wrappers
to send a ‘Goodbye. Love you,’ call.
Batteries fade, signals fail. Sobbed replies,
‘We will never forget you,’ go unheard.
The patient mountain stands waiting. Waiting
for peace to return – then unearth its hymns again.