February 18 - Pretentious Prose Poem, Amazing or Amazing?

I look out over the snow covered landscape.  And all I see are the ghosts of my past and former selves.  The wind chimes pull me back, but I move forward - barefoot - out into the landscape. To become one with the landscape.  All that shows that I have passed are the bloody footprints (the marks of walking too long across this sharp and torturous snow.  Ice really.  And I see trees: scratching out at the sky which seems to be the same white as the snow.  And I watch the landscape grow and change and remain.  You cannot hear me and yet I call out to you: cries of a desperate woman looking for hope in this killing field.