I've always loved trees.... I felt more at home with this than I have readong almost anything else in my life.

and I had the perfect ambient music playing in the background while I read it. I couldn't have planned that.

It's hearing things like that that keep me motivated to write. I'm glad I could give you a moment like that.

thank you so much.

As someone who express love and utmost appreciation for snow, for winter and for the picturesque landscapes of the mountainous pikes, I have to say that this poem's title entreated the core of my attention, piercing it flawlessly.

It takes only a moment's notice and a quick glance with ones ocular appendages to fathom the touch idiosyncratic to modernism that caressed this poem. Yes, the way it is "structures" prompts a modernist-like approach to it which is commendable in its own way.

The introductory verse, the first verse won my heart with the powerful image and multitude of implications and interpretations it drowned my mind with. It felt powerful, audacious and... surreal. Beyond the obvious love for the respective landscape it invokes, it also has the potential of transmitting a subtle sense of sorrow and pain alluding to gurgling or clogged blood inside your veins as your heart is struck with the weight of vapour of a stench that only sorrow oozes it with.

The following verses accomplish the exchange of vivid landscapes that manage to outline themselves inside my mind as my eyes coil their view around every word, slithering my glare through the verses in a harmonious mannerism that is only oiled by the above mentioned modernist approach with which you caressed your poem with.

I appreciate how you illustrated a relationship between the cosmic and the chthonic here, as the stellar body, the sun is slowly getting overshadowed by the perceived immensity of the mountain. The land eats the sky where in fact, it is know that the stellar bodies are much, much bigger. An elegant irony, illusion created here. Anyway, this is further pushed by the fact that even the sun's power and beauty, its light rays are swallowed by the grandeur that the mountain so flawlessly succeeds to emit.
A wonderful waltz of giants.

Also, I feel compelled to express this opinionated essay of your undoubtedly exquisite work vernacular to your capabilities and harmonious talent of weaving cobwebs of illustrious paragraphs under nothing else but an intoxicating veil of honesty and as such, I cannot help but express that the addition of Ikea was something that, personally, felt a bit... shaking, to say the least.
In my opinion, your poem is a literary representation of the beauty of nature and since Ikea is something artificial, a human concept and creation, I only believe that it depraves the otherwise purity of nature that your poem could have so eloquently demonstrated. But this is simply my opinion, I am curious to learn what you wanted to achieve by adding it in, my dearest and most amiable Seskra.

Anyway, the beauty of the mountain continues and I have to say that you transcend it philosophically too. I like how you make use of its physical dominance to express that on its peak, on top of the world, you have no fear. As if you conquered that which would be thought to be unconquerable and as such there is no room for fear.

The invocation of loneliness, especially how it was added in a beseech to wither it does nothing but to demonstrate, empower my idea that your poem also pierced a subtle allusion towards intrinsic sorrow.

The last verse, however, is conclusive and straight to the point. It reeks of compassion and I like that in it.

All in all, I have to say that I found your poem enjoyable. I am very satisfied that I managed to find time to read it and I hope that you will peruse this opinion I have shared with you with equal satisfaction.

My commendations.

As usual your verbiage is matched only by your insight, my dear Eduard.

The inclusion of Ikea I deliberated for some time, but ultimately I chose it because its jarring presence felt thematically appropriate. I wished to create a contrast between the inherent magnitude and beauty of the mountain and my fragile, broken self, and I could think of no more potent way of realizing this than to have the very poem itself break down upon my description. I am broken, whereas the mountain is not. And not even the poem itself can change that, elevate that, pretend otherwise. And neither will I, its author. The poem breaks and falls apart because that is what I do, and what I did when nature saw fit to bring me into this world. The wording becomes frank, modern and utterly unconcerned with metaphor or imagery because it would have been duplicitous to use the same language I'd used to describe the mountain as to describe myself.

My fearlessness would carry no weight if I were described so loftily as the challenge I overcame. And neither would my loneliness.

In addition I felt the crassness of the text would illustrate the lack of finesse that went into my design. I was not carefully assembled by hand, sketched out before building or polished to a shine. My body is a slapdash rushed effort that nature threw together 5 minutes before lunchtime. And I say it as such because it is the only way I can adequately express it. My own lack of artistry here mimics that of my creator, and is intended as a direct critique thereof.

However beyond that, I am truly flattered and delighted to hear what you have to say. A day spent winning your heart is never a day wasted.
The intrinsic sorrow is indeed there, never not there. But the question is whether I let that be the the end of it, let that be the final word on the matter.

And as the final line of the poem suggests, the answer is no.