The Summit - The Receiver

No follow up to break clean

Just bruise and endings.

We hungered right under our coats.

And it was there that blood rose

To spread and darken.

All days it churned and with every word

From the ground I begged for a summit.

All limbs were still and through every chill

In the cold I begged for a summer.

Failure taught us to temper.

Their empty words were labored,

Were ours in mirrors.

So silent we make our move now.

All bitter taste we wash down

And reach for their hands.

On days it churns we keep all those words

On the ground and gaze at the summit.

Our climb is long and we know our faults.

With their eyes I look to the summit.