HiveComb

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I love the Antarctic cold, I sometime dream to behold,
It's icy wind roam like the desert storms of Africa's gold,

The numb, shiver and freezing breath somewhat excite your alive,
Hah, A bittersweet thrill, that the savannah cannot give.

But it too is not a safe haven, but somewhat better than the burning sun,
Far far better than the arid lands of the Sahel. Where most venture to memory, yes they are gone.

The scorching heat, the endless dunes of sand,
A desolate landscape, where man is hard to stand.

Then I wake up to the heat, sweat dripping like rain drops,

A reminder, of the the two worlds apart. Hmm what a plots,

In those sweaty moments I realize, those there too wish for this heat, do they? It's just a thought,
It might be global warming, ice melting away, conspiracies or other nonsense, God it's hot.

Silence grip, loud thoughts we should stop global warming. I may not wake up to sweat dripping next time... boiled meat. 1