It overcomes me like a sun-washed Himalayan peak.
Perhaps I might blame it
on our age of sins
But in the end, it is I that wronged.
The avalanche starts like a tantrum of tears.
Perhaps it is because
of my mother's lies
But I know, there is only one to blame.
The snow shines like blades of fluorescent white.
Perhaps I can say
that they have blinded me
But no matter, for it is I that stand lonely.
I, a lost blade of green.
I, in threads of hate.
The sun runs down, like ribbons of gold.
Perhaps, though, I am sorry,
Because my sister,
I love you.
But your mountain towers with all that you are,
and I only fear to fall from your side.
