mercredi, juillet 13, 2005
[Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it] Emily Dickinson
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Thou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
just glancing through the weird assortment of files on my computer. and wondering where they came from. which part of my life were there from. what age. what place. what mind. i forget who i am
[Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it] Emily Dickinson
Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night, since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Thou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!
just glancing through the weird assortment of files on my computer. and wondering where they came from. which part of my life were there from. what age. what place. what mind. i forget who i am
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