Life before

The journey of life before.

At the peak of the mountain,

Edge of purgatory,

Grew a tree made of ice,

Beginning our story.

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And the wind was cold, 

Blowing with ash,

Killed was the nature,

At the end of a flash.

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Higher than the peak,

Lightning was born,

A storm made of fire,

Ready to mourn,

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The death of the fallen,

At the base of the North,

Their journey was harsh,

A journey cut short.

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The mountain stood tall,

With big walls of ice,

Protecting the treasure,

All felt so nice.

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For two hundred years,

The sweet kiss of death

Is what fire felt

Running out of breath.

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Because every attempt,

The walls didn't budge,

The ice didn't melt,

Death was the judge.

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And here comes our hero,

A child made of flames.

With a jacket of ashes,

Stopped at the gates.

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The ice didn't move,

But then he got cold,

Estinquished his flames,

And knocked at the door.

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Walls came down,

The child got inside,

He looked around,

Beginning to climb.

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Nine months later,

The journey did end.

The tree made of ice,

Scared to offend.

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He bowed down,

Down on a knee.

Then he got up

And looked at the tree.

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It started melting,

Smaller and smaller,

Now as the child, 

No longer taller.

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One single touch,

And then it was gone

The tree and the child

Both carried on.

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Fire and ice,

Two hundred years,

A war neverending,

Came to a peace.

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And in the end,

The death that we mourn,

From fire and ice,

A person was born.