"After great pain, a formal feeling comes --
The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs --
The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,
And Yesterday, or Centuries before?
The Feet, mechanical, go round --
Of Ground, or Air, or Ought --
A Wooden way
Regardless grown,
A Quartz contentment, like a stone --
This is the Hour of Lead --
Remembered, if outlived,
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow --
First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go --"
-emily dickinson
does it mean Something?
or inconsequentially
martyred self-deceit?
Redemptive Value?
or mere unconscious craving,
dark self-indulgence?
does some Lofty Call
rend my soul and heart like this?
or vain pretension?
same Pain repeated
resonates, growing stronger
Irresistable.
I see that I am not the first to comment, but I will proudly mention that I am the first 'follower' of this blog...whatever that really means.
ReplyDeleteI've enjoyed your posts so far. They are so well written and descriptive, I'm jealous. :) I also really do like the portrait of yourself- even melancholy has its own distinct beauty.
talk to you later! happy blogging!
-abby