Monsters

Yeti

Yeti

A prowler in the high and downy drifts,

From blizzard’s howling borne in mountains’ teeth

And blown amid the Himalayan rifts,

His muscles bunched like permafrost beneath

The driven snow from which His pelt is made,

The Yeti walks. His mammoth tracks remain,

Blank craters on the mountainside,

But still the trail runs cold. He can evade

Intruders who would seek to end His reign;

His kingdom grows with every stride.

What monarch else, what despot would attempt

To climb atop that steep and mighty throne?

His sov’reign independence is exempt

From laws of man. The Yeti rules alone;

The stones, His subjects, bow before His feet.

Or so ‘tis said. Accounts among the guides -

Though I don’t doubt their expertise -

Are fractured, hear-say stories, incomplete.

So by the hearth I keep my warm insides;

Outside my beating heart would freeze.

Yet I have heard you roaring in the fire

And shiver to confront that icy storm,

To risk the bite of winter’s wrathful ire.

That snows should coalesce in such a form,

Abominable? No, you are divine;

In place of god, you held me in your thrall,

Devoted to you I became.

O man of snow! I long to make you mine;

To mount your head with pride upon my wall,

Above a plaque that boasts your name.