Following up on the “Raven” inspired poem by Jared Barklow in the last post, here’s a Dickinson-inspired piece (with the original poem beneath it…)
Clutter and shame have brought me here,
to a life ending in despair.
This chapter concludes like every other,
hope reveals its colors, a myth in disguise.
I waited it out but the sun was too shy,
a whisper from the wind created endless fear.
Lack of dedication, a dwindling spine.
My book shed to pieces,
the first day I saw life.
Twelve thousand wishes
and thirty-seven butterflies,
despite beauty, must always reach an end
Here I am, proving it all,
sprawled out in this bed, awaiting the thunder,
aching to be free from the striking sorrow,
but I know reality is far too harsh.
My epilogue is on its way,
I refuse to breathe much longer.
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"I heard a Fly buzz" (465) - by Emily Dickinson I heard a Fly buzz – when I died – The Stillness in the Room Was like the Stillness in the Air – Between the Heaves of Storm – The Eyes around – had wrung them dry – And Breaths were gathering firm For that last Onset – when the King Be witnessed – in the Room – I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away What portions of me be Assignable – and then it was There interposed a Fly – With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz – Between the light – and me – And then the Windows failed – and then I could not see to see –
Pulp City 