Campfires in the Arctic
Lights shine;
Heralds, Old Gods
Reflections down below
Flicker on fog;
Beacons of winter plane
Emphasise the sting
On marked, brittle skin.
Close the book, it’s written story;
Walk the ground on other whims.
Faces grow, half wisps of snow
Settling into ever-shifting road.
Another fire, keeps a body warm;
Brief respite of weary storm
Shudders, fades, come fast and gone;
The march continues ever on.
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