April is National Poetry Month. And I’d like to feature two of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson.
There is a pain — so utter
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There is a pain — so utter —
It swallows substance up —
Then covers the Abyss with Trance —
So Memory can step
Around — across — upon it —
As one within a Swoon —
Goes safely — where an open eye —
Would drop Him — Bone by Bone —
Pain—has an Element of Blank—
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Pain—has an Element of Blank—
It cannot recollect
When it begun—or if there were
A time when it was not—
It cannot recollect
When it begun—or if there were
A time when it was not—
It has no Future—but itself—
Its Infinite contain
Its Past—enlightened to perceive
New Periods—of Pain.
The Wyrd 