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I never thought I would feel this way.

How could I know that patience would have such sway?



I met you over a year ago.

The feelings did slowly grow.



Eyes that watch me and hands that stroke.

MMM makes me want to go for broke.



Calmness, patience, gentleness, and a little kink,

Have tipped my heart over the brink.



I have nothing left to say except,

I love you.

I look around and can not see

It surrounds me and I feel oh so trapped

I need to be free.



It is everywhere and is so vast it takes my mind

I used to have so much more control

How did I get things in such a bind?



It makes my soul sad

To see it cover everything and take all the space

I know it makes me look oh so bad.



Perhaps if I leave, no, I can not

My sense of survival should kick in soon

If not, I might as well tie a knot.



For the rope is truly at an end

And all I can do now is hang on

Or start trying everything to rend.



Elemental

Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.



Part Four: Time and Eternity





DEATH is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust.

“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,

I have another trust.”



Death doubts it, argues from the ground.

The Spirit turns away,

Just laying off, for evidence,

An overcoat of clay.







***************************************



XLVI (another one)





A DEATH-BLOW is a life-blow to some

Who, till they died, did not alive become;

Who, had they lived, had died, but when

They died, vitality begun.



****************************

CIX (and another one)



FROM use she wandered now a year,

Her tarrying unknown;

If wilderness prevent her feet,

Or that ethereal zone



No eye hath seen and lived,

We Ignorant must be.

We only know what time of year

We took the mystery.

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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening



Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost