(this is a poem that I dedicate for the Mount Everest climber David Sharp who died while descending from the summit. He was still alive but barely moving and 40 climbers had passed him by without even helping him.)
The Summit (David Sharp 1972 - 2006) by Danielle Que
Here, rested his dome-shaped ice
My days gone by, without air
As footsteps slowly ahead rise
Of my ill fated dream and fair
It was souls, not flesh and meat
Descended along rocky sides
High above my freezing fleet
It froze and was eaten by tides
Here I am, sleeping, but alive
Sit here though, he slowly dies
Go on further, never the pride
As I slowly paid the algid price
Those who have forgotten near
And those who continued on
Those voices I warmly hear
As his loneliness had me done
Gone were the days I miss
As I lay here on your beauty
Hoping for your fevered kiss
My hands frostbitten and empty.
