The Dead SeasonA Poem by Cassidy Mask
Quickly the year left us, shaking off the Autumn to
plunge into winter. We steeled our smiles,
wrapped up our limbs, prayed for the new
year and spring. While we watched the land for miles
turn first, grey with frost, second, white
as the snow lay her blanket over field and
road. Those days were thick with smoke
from fires and the suffocating drifts of night
when we’d wake to find the world choked,
drowned, in the frozen blizzard.
Little life remained then, in those harshest weeks
when stirring beyond door and hearth meant
taking steps toward the grave. And every moment spent
outside such safety as a roof, four walls and
crackling fire could well provide
was a struggle to keep death defied.
The trees then stood their barest and
most stark, trailing falls of ice like gleaming
gems from a dead and grasping hand.
In the village all seemed silent, not a breath
nor voice then sounded in
the empty streets, or if some noise
made any din,
the snow soon muffled everything.
Every laugh, every cry, every breath.
In the fields, nothing but white
endless white, from earth to sky
and back again, as if the world were
dressed to bride the night.
While in their joy her living tenants die.
And then it shifts,
a something changing, moving
flowing in the very air
In the dark branches
tiny bursts of bright
and greyish skies seem suddenly more fair.
The greying snow now melting in its drifts
where ere it lay so heavy, now away
and with it all the silence of its stay.
In town and fields voices raise
Ne'er so lively nor so light...
© 2012 Cassidy Mask
AboutI'm at art college in Singapore. "...I never heard them laugh. They had, Instead, this tic of scratching quotes in air - like frightened mimes inside their box of style, that first class carriag.. more..