trailing upon the past,
winding up the same hill,
looking up to the same peak,
that collided us down to death,
we pick up on the same
old lines, of a landslide
that swept the whole staff
away , then colliding with rocks,
look we're striking again,
can't find the way across,
the great canyon,
if this seems untrusted,
we'd better not return,
seek attention no where,
but we'd have part way,
for good, not upon same hill,
so we return,
to the same death match,
on the same guillotine,
we bend our wicked-faith,
this ain't merry,
it's all faulty,
we ain't same mountaineers,
anymore !
©Michaelw
M