The evening star hung upon the northern glacier of the inaccessible point and shone through the perpetual darkness as the lone light twinkled it's last light years away unto this desolate tundra. Cliffs of infinite floating upon the charcoal abyss of the uncharted seas stretched around the ragged edges like plains of liquid abyss. Freyr hath forsaken this world of ice along with any other deity held dear in the fires of men's hearts and the uproar of their Hellenistic chants, which never reached the ears of the men here as there was no call of the Gods powerful enough to covet this outcast. No covenant to follow as all hope was wildly foreign to this aperture of Providence's cartography.
Not a poem, but I had nowhere else to put it. Late night thoughts drive you desolate into the hours of rest.