Hahnenkamm
Skis try to dig, snow hard and unforgiving,
Hear the edges bite, metal on ice, a sharp clatter,
Every turn feels too quick, not precise, no time to think, just react.
The wind cuts like a knife, hurting the skin,
It’s biting, sharp, ice stinging the face,
Breathing is sucking on frozen air, cutting into the lungs.
The snow’s packed solid, nothing soft here,
The skis don’t carve, they scrape, grinding their way,
Speed’s picking up, the world closing in with each turn, gates getting tighter.
Gravity’s howling, relentless, pushing on your back,
Air tears at your body, gnawing at the skin,
Every breath feels heavy, the cold filling your chest with weight.
The surface’s solid beneath you, not giving an inch.
The speed a constant, trees rushing by like a freight train,
The skis sound sharp, quick, edges screaming as they keep you on course.
The finish line’s coming, fast, closer with every heartbeat,
Cowbells jingle, filling the ears, all that’s left is to see the time light up,
Will it say number one, or is there work to be done?