Short Poem
Sleeping under brilliant stars,
Open air on land with scars.
Nothing above, everything beneath,
Over mountains, with gritted teeth.
To hit the peak, is to arrive,
Being here at all, is being alive.
Sleeping under brilliant stars,
Open air on land with scars.
Nothing above, everything beneath,
Over mountains, with gritted teeth.
To hit the peak, is to arrive,
Being here at all, is being alive.
I enjoyed while reading :)
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