Lost

[Fatman Butter]

I like the start of this; but in the bit I'm about to repost I lost my way. I'm going to suggest some edits in an attempt to tighten it up. They are only suggestions.

Hunched and pinched with grim, thin lips, the staggered searchers
we once  knew, stumble above  this  hacked-out haven ,
our shelter  from  sly dry-born snow. Who can call out?
Who make a movement? How long will they  prod for phantoms,
whilst we dream  in  frozen sleep?  We shall not wake, we are not  sleeping,
we who are lost on this bleak scar.


Hunched with grim, thin lips, staggered searchers, stumble above this  hacked-out haven.
Who can call out? Who might make a movement?
How long will they  prod for phantoms, whilst we dream in frozen sleep?
We shall not wake, we are not sleeping...we are lost on this bleak scar.

I have stopped at this point as what you may, or may not adopt will be relevant to what
(also can see what I think is better: Hunched with pinched lips searchers stumble above this hacked-out haven.)