My first blizzard in Michigan brought to mind unexpected ideas, and this poem, about a ghost lost in the snow....
The brittle winter night
Teems with replicas of trees
Wilted shrubs, shuddering with fright
The blackened pond it flows, sucking in the light,
As the wind breathes harsh and ragged in its icy might.
The willow woman wanders, beneath cold indifferent stars
Knowing things she can’t possibly know
Gowned and frightened in the snow
She belonged once, in this world of ours
But now she’s aimless in the winter glow.
The voices call relentlessly but have no sound
Baleful beings churning in the ground,
She follows. Nowhere else to go,
As they track her with sharpness of a hound
In what madness is this world so bound?
Collectors gather in the cold tonight
Waiting for the lost to come, denied their sight
Icy roads paved with wonder, lost to all mankind
Are waiting in the darkness where the moon is right.
All those who dare to follow the strange beings that wait,
Eagerly anticipating hellish fates
Will never see the sun rise in the height of spring
Or feel the light; know the peace, and how to sing
Of better places beyond fear or hate.
This captivated spirit decides not to stay
The voices call her with so much to say
Perhaps this world is lost, but she is not bound
She can move on and lift beyond the ground.
The Collectors cannot follow to a brighter day
But the lost can always find another way.