(This poem was written many years ago when I first fell in love with Emily Dickinson and was my feeble attempt to imitate her lush, intimate voice that transforms even the most commonplace objects into magical things)
At night I sit by my window
imprisoned by shadows cast
by the blinds in the moonlight.
In vain try I to break free
with a file, a saw, even sticks of dynamite
yet long and gloomy the bars did stand.
My eye turns upward towards the moon
a gleaming orb spraying
silver dust that coats the
furniture of my living room.
It is you, I swore, you who have
imprisoned me.
Go back to your castle
there behind the clouds
and leave me be
free in the darkness
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment