White as the brightest fallen star

Is the beam that beckons at so far a frozen tunnel

Wrapped and worn with the wintry solitude and similitude we have felt

Over and over.

Have we climbed these peaks before?

Are they circles drawn across plated sands?

Or is it a mask of our own mold and fallen stars.

Over and over we tread the beaten path,

And make no clearing past what we know.

What lies past the darkness at the end of so frozen a tunnel?

What creatures do we face in the whipped torment?

White as the dark of the moon

We face our caverned smiles

Over and Over.