Cold feet

My feet are cold.  The very ice of Antarctica itself rest under them as I strive to find the gateway of discovery.  I have been trying for years and I often think that I am now farther away from it then when I started. From Europe where I found the need to find something greater, to Africa where I nearly found death. The world was not enough to sooth the storm that forever rages inside of me.  And now I find myself on the southern continent sitting on the ice, just letting the snow bury me as it falls from the sky. My feet are cold, my heart is slowing, and my eyes won't open. The world couldn't help me and I found out that I didn't need it, I needed myself.  I am now buried under the snow with the warmth of peace, waiting to let my damaged body go.