Through naked snows I pass at speed,
Not pausing, though the trees I heed.
They shake their branches, stretch and push,
But onward I must press with need.
The ice bound lake that once was lush,
A path I weave and dare to brush:
Its name I cannot bare to speak,
For if I fail, all life will hush.
Ahead I spot the snowy peak,
Where fires leap and gases reek.
For me I hope there waits no pyre,
In this dread place that none dare seek.
At last I crawl and grasp the spire,
Then open my hand, look down with ire
And cast the thing into the fire,
And cast the thing into the fire.
© Phil Corbluth