So I read about a man that spent three
months lost in the Andes-
he’d trekked into the mountains and
became trapped in a storm,
disoriented, and subsequently lost-
surviving on scraps, he managed to
snow and frigidity couldn’t take the man
nor hunger,
or fatigue,
or decimated hope-
how easy it would have been to just
lay down and succumb to fate,
in the face of all things seemingly tattered and
but he survived-
depleted, but found-
worn, but not defeated-
it is possible to survive,
even on scraps, and faith, and blind will-
it is possible to endure,
even while shivering under the weight of
endless frost and impenetrable black-
it is possible to be found,
even when your cries cannot be heard,
even when your throat lay damaged and wearied and drawn
by screaming incessantly into the thin, frozen air-
it is possible to be found,
as long as discovery is your aim, and
as long as the coals within you burn warmer
than the cold around you*


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