Words spill like an avalanche down a mountain,
Swamping out the message in a flurry of exposition.
The plateau crumbles, dropping great sheets
Of icy statements down like old guillotine blades,
To shatter against the cold rock in tears,
Too frozen, too brittle to pierce.
Such noise, such ineffectual destruction,
Laying snow on snow on piles of snow;
But the mountain stays still beneath the weight,
Its stony face unmoved for yet another day,
Knowing it will soon abate.
As the tide drifts to a halt,
The mountain slowly, contemptuously,
Turns away.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Words spill like an avalanche down a mountain,
Swamping out the message in a flurry of exposition.
The plateau crumbles, dropping great sheets
Of icy statements down like old guillotine blades,
To shatter against the cold rock in tears,
Too frozen, too brittle to pierce.
Such noise, such ineffectual destruction,
Laying snow on snow on piles of snow;
But the mountain stays still beneath the weight,
Its stony face unmoved for yet another day,
Knowing it will soon abate.
As the tide drifts to a halt,
The mountain slowly, contemptuously,
Turns away.
