Things move so slowly in this dream –
The winter’s cold, at creeping pace,
Envelops us, and slaps our face,
Among the graves, with frost agleam
The frozen day hangs heavy on this place –
.
The wind emits a baleful cry;
As though in water, you and I,
Move slowly, almost painfully
Towards a stone we cannot see
Nor read it clearly, when we draw it nigh –
.
I look around now, you are gone;
But I expected that at last
It’s all sped up, the wind blows fast
And in this dream, now, pale and wan,
I slip where dirt’s among the snow amassed
Mournful tone, reminds me of the ghostly description of the moors at the end of Wuthering Heights, only your poem has more snow. You play with syntax, in doing so you create a more moving, song-like quality in your poem.
Only criticisms would be the looming cliche, such as the “mournful” cry in the wind, and the cold “stinging” the face. Small changes would make your poem more unique. Great potential.
You know, I think you’re right. I appreciate the thoughts. – Owen
Great photo to go with the poem: the winter’s cold, at creeping pace … the words sum up the photo.