This, a mountian.
Were plates shift.
A pules, Thermal in
Rock, so dead-deep
in earth, past soil
Black rich into magma.
From waterfall edgy cliffs.
To Ice-glass , unforgivable shears.
This heat, blasts peaks.
I will strike down, onetime.
Hurtful climers, barbarous shoes.
Decide to clime? Decide to spirit dye.
Blowhard I, With vulture eyes
Scanning cycles, seeing carnage.
Hikers distract me, distracting.
I'm wishing to be that "Argos" Range.
My stone gray easy, unstable.
Silent frost of "loneblame" sumite.
The "sizeofmycrap" reads 66.6 oh and a 9.
To fools who cling on, Ignorent love,
I speak of "avalanche", cover you all,
In silent cold-thick,.
From foothills, I can see Tibet,
Save it for me.