Perspective

On the mountain made out of hard
Rocks minerals in conglomeration of
Their glome by the Earth
Lord whose heavy brows resist
Risings and earth-quakes
The further your progress
Into snow, wind, their reign
Upon the sucking shrubs who ween
A keep from the poor
Altitude and only when you get
To the top disappear there is no
Breath and the long
Ocean horizons its flow
Almost into January, leagues.