The flatland has mountains too.

You just can’t see them,

you can only feel them.

The mountains, they come in waves.

Sometimes nonstop,

other times not so much.

Very rarely are they quiet, the mountains.

Sometimes a low drone,

other times a screaming whine.

They, the mountains, are always cold and rarely warm.

Sometimes chilling to the bone,

other times cooling sweat.

The flatland has mountains too, I say.

You just can’t look upon them,

you can only be within them.