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Frigid Beauty
Tracks cut across the land like sloppy sutures
Mountains rise like boils in the snow
Massive trees glare at you in dark green robes
The gray sky oppresses your spirit
The train stops in a barely existent unpronounceable town
And you get off to stretch your legs
The cold stabs your skin like thousands of ice picks
You walk into a tiny restaurant and order soup
And it's not very good but the warmth
Permeates your crystallized blood and it flows again
You sit there until the train is ready again
It's nearly night and the sky is still gray
But you won't sleep tonight
Because you're mesmerized
By Russia's frigid, beautiful embrace
I do not normally care for geographical poems, but this one really knocked me over! As beautiful as anything Pasternak described in Dr Zhivago, and much shorter too! This is a brilliant poem!
J-Called