Monday, December 28, 2009

Emily Dickinson's Letter To A Friend, Not Yet

Dear Friend not yet,

Do not pretend to know me? Or what of that I do?
My solitude does not bare me, nor is it so cruel.
In darkness I find that which cheats the night.
And words escape that surely have some light.

My friends in silence speak to me, quietly and with great care.
Words that flow so swiftly, words no others dare.
These I keep on my darkest-day when clouds cry out so loud.
Thunder rends the silence and breaks that silver cloud.

No, not sickness of the solitude--dare I have no remorse.
Silence is my gratitude and words fly out--due course.
My friend, not yet, and so you think of me--foreigner.
I, a husband-less wife.


Emily.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Goodbye by Rhonda Fisher

My heart has bled dry...

let this love lie rest, it's time

to let go, goodbye.