Emily Dickinson and drear...

02/07/08

“I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved; the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave”

“Silence in love betrays more woe"

I found these 2 quotes above while surfing on the internet like I often do late when boredom hits me. ... For some reason, they conjured up how much I loved reading Emily Dickinson in school... yes, i was one of those dorks who LOVED reading all those boring books in English ...and Creative Writing was the highlight of my day. So here is my Dickinson-inspired nonsense.... no it doesn't rhyme... Enjoy.... or Hate ... it's whatever.

Silence in the soul. Should it comfort and honor comfort? Should it frighten contentment? Should it shriek at feeling complacent? Is the silence a warning to deeper caverns? A flicker of light on the fire that has been smothered by what ifs. how can fear and uncertainty engulf happiness and craved arrival? Is their release from such things? Where seeking silence is the quietening of the silent roar internal. Giving away known reality for vulnerable apprehension.... and security for soul. Running has long been detoured and turned on end. Hidden from the fear of lust. Lustful wanting of such departures bound. Life beyond is little without, but life with is failure pending. Failure of self or failure of sustaining.

A past that has built itself on salt. Sinking silently into the seen. Blank acceptance commanding shovels. Pouring each layer of salt out of empty vessels. Constant reassurance plagues and lingers. While silence grows its vines. Each twisting finger overpowering each simple word. Is this all that's left? A forest overgrown with grief for things unseen. For desires parked each kilometer per mile. For paper hearts fading in the sunlight. The stage is so enduring with standing ovations. And who can resist with reviews of opening night. Even withering mesh is naked. And the naked will flush into emptiness.