The Slant of Death
On your doorstep
On my doorstep
Casts long, wintry shadows
Because, of course, we cannot stop for it
Will not stop for it
There is a difference....
That Difference is an Engine
By which we measure every little Grief
For, Eden comes slowly, Dear One
Luck is neither chance, nor Destiny
Oh, the hoary Delites of a frozen season!
Ice skates across its pools
The Spilt Dews of childhood hues
Ah those Wild Nights(!) of a Soul unto Itself
Fame is, indeed, Fickle Food
And Society selected, a liqueur never brewed
To Salve the Senses
Like the Broom of Man's (en)mesh(ed) Steel
Sifting through Bandaged moments
For, sweet sieves do have appeal
In Alabaster Chambers, Autumnal poets sing
Of yellowing lanes that draw The Eye
A Transcendent(al) musing
Lapping at the (s)miles of Spacetime
Like the careful crease in your lace-lined Shawl
For, we never know exactly how high
Our collective Hope(s) will actually Fly (or, fall...)
#emilydickinson
On your doorstep
On my doorstep
Casts long, wintry shadows
Because, of course, we cannot stop for it
Will not stop for it
There is a difference....
That Difference is an Engine
By which we measure every little Grief
For, Eden comes slowly, Dear One
Luck is neither chance, nor Destiny
Oh, the hoary Delites of a frozen season!
Ice skates across its pools
The Spilt Dews of childhood hues
Ah those Wild Nights(!) of a Soul unto Itself
Fame is, indeed, Fickle Food
And Society selected, a liqueur never brewed
To Salve the Senses
Like the Broom of Man's (en)mesh(ed) Steel
Sifting through Bandaged moments
For, sweet sieves do have appeal
In Alabaster Chambers, Autumnal poets sing
Of yellowing lanes that draw The Eye
A Transcendent(al) musing
Lapping at the (s)miles of Spacetime
Like the careful crease in your lace-lined Shawl
For, we never know exactly how high
Our collective Hope(s) will actually Fly (or, fall...)
#emilydickinson
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