Put by

 Crisp crackling has begot   
 Ponderous tracks in white   
 Adorned in crimson signs  
 Her images still chase him
 Like an unalterable shadow  
 That resides within his soul  
 Oh- how words cut through  
 Like a thrown spear at war  
 In fogyish of life and love  
 The thumping of his heart  
 Clashes against his wound
 As his bloody drops trickle  
 Down to the wintry tundra
 Becoming lost ruby stones  
 They sizzle in chilled snow
 Never to be found or valued  
 But he dares not to take rest
 He has too miles to go first
 Returning to his sanctuary
 Nestled into folds of alpines   
 Founded in his life eons ago  
 Atop great mountainscapes  
 Where sacred paths still lay  
 Beneath an enduring blanket  
 Where horned sheep do play  
 Like unsupervised children  
 Where howling winds hide  
 Both his hobble and self pride  
 Where his own lone candle  
 Accompanies time granules
 Shifting in unchanged seasons
 On the fray of life and regrets  
 And dreams are so much kinder  
 Than those longed for ventures  
 Encountered following...his heart  
 
 Poet of the Light © 2020  
 
 
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