" A Poet, a Death, a Mystery"
My girl. Emily Dickinson. May you never rest, may you always be a mystery for the future to figure out, you left so many clue, over 1800 of them, no one listened, then. I listen everyday, to the smallest silences, and the empty spaces between letters and commas. I know everything you couldnt shout out. I know what you said, I know who you were and you were beautifully trapped, you made mountains in your bed and crossed rivers as the dish water ran in streams from your occuppied fingers. Emily Dickinson. in an attic, in a grave, in a world, that was too wide to listen
posted by swordpoet @ 6:05 AM
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