As Winter cloaked the fields with snow,
trying to hide from God this hellish place,
he had eyes but refused to see or know
what the pleas of the suffering might show.
Their bitter tears that froze upon the face -
as winter cloaked the fields with snow -
formed like tiny pearls that shone although
beauty had never settled or left a trace.
He had eyes but refused to see or know
just where his chosen ones might go,
and offered only sanctimonious grace.
As winter cloaked the fields with snow,
only the wire, with claws on show
surrounded these souls with cruel embrace.
He had eyes but refused to see or know
how silence reigned, except the laughing crow
who watched over this benighted space
as winter cloaked the fields with snow.
We had eyes but refused to see or know.
First of all, thanks for stopping by my blog the other day and commenting!
ReplyDeleteThis poem is beautiful. I admire anyone who can write a poem to a specific meter and style. In one of my writing classes, we spent an entire week creating poems to different forms. It was daunting for a wordy novelist like me!
Well done! Happy to "meet" you!
Jen
Hi Jen; thanks for commenting!
ReplyDeletePoetic forms are certainly a good exercise for writers inasmuch as they force you to be creative within specific parameters. I found the villanelle slightly easier than the sestina (Peace in Our Time) and to have done one was very satisfying.
I think all novelists should try their hand at poetry; many of my favourite books have a poetry to their prose which lifts them above the mundane.