they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Friday, December 09, 2005

emily got it

A perfect description of a migraine, and it's somewhat comforting to know that such a great poet got them, too.

I Felt a Funeral in My Brain, by Emily Dickinson

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb.

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
Wrecked, solitary, here.


  • At 3:59 PM, Blogger Faith said…

    That's one of my fave poems of hers! Sorry about the migraine, though. That's never good. I've got a bit of a headache myself right now, but I can't trace it to any one cause. I've eaten, I've had caffeine, and I've had plenty o' water today thus far. Probly due to my girlie-thing that I have, dag nabbit! Advil is my only hope...


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