Body on the frozen river

Stones and sand cracking below the smooth snow, steps so shallow and steep are mumbling the ode of death while consumes with desire his frozen soul. Steps of pain the smell of the omega letters that came  from above and from below, a mental disease a trivial path.

Walking on stones and snow the crushing moon and blooms and gloom made him cry, perhaps for the first time and the last. Numerical images of his mind encoded the bright of many suns, the heavy weight of the world was consuming his sleep. He had already no escape.

It was the last breath, he saw the forbidden lines on the sky. Walking over sand and snow, cracking below steps so shallow and steep are mumbling the ode of death while consumes with desire his frozen soul.

He heard of wolves he wasn't there. He heard or crows, he wasn't really there. The remnants of his animal instincts encouraged him to run, his pale skin was reddish again his eyes were black as deep ponds, his face was open and terrified. The omega had sent its companions to pick him up once and for all, but this heart was still beating, the spark of life on him was still alive, telling him secrets that were unheard by his mind. He crawled and hid, he rolled and fell, he jumped and crouched he escaped the doom. But he wasn't there.

Ripped and cold, bleeding and stoned his hands were numb and the courage for truth was gone, his ears and neck his rampant steps were a crime for death. He still had the beating heart he still had mumbling veins, but they were dying as well. The dominion of death had come through his feet and pace, the cold sucked his blood out, running out of heat, coming out of himself. And he wasn't there anymore. But he still had a beating heart.

Tumbling by the river a city from afar was the last dominion, the border and graceful line at the horizon. A smile in the crowd a seduction for his beating heart, but his diseased mind was there no more, trembling and shaking walking and walking, tumbling and falling he remembered his friend who was living at that bay, that cozy place where the dawn is pervasive and miraculous he recovered his memory and saw the light from the moon. Took his pen out and wrote a poem for his friend there was no choice anymore rather than let himself to go. But he still had a beating heart. And he was finally there.

A warm and precious beam from the moon covered him and gave him a warm shower. He had no pain anymore. The river was frozen and solid in the shore, the city lights were glowing and the marvelous stones from the bridges were singing with the winds melodies of freedom. The ice was dripping and freezing in needles pointing down, the winds where whistling around them cutting the notes of his beating heart. The man sat by the shore extending in a glassy shaft, and he felt good. He reclined by the river and his wounds were healing, there was no cold anymore there was no pain. There wasn't any thought there was nothing else than his shadow by the river bank.