Poetry

(after Emily Dickinson)

I did not seek death but she came along,
was visiting
in passing looked at me wearily;
I was shooting,
she was a entrancing, lewd, lascivious
kind of being;
who really did love destruction and war,
she promised to visit me once more.

She said that all of her kisses and bliss
would transport me
into a unknown distant restful place,
eternity
was one of her many vague promises,
from her grasp free
grenades, rockets, shells detonated
while still in vain, with longing, she waited.

[“Because I Could Not Stop for Death” by Emily Dickinson.]