"I am finding great solace in the poems of Emily Dickinson."
We are not the first whose anxious, broken hearts have found words to comfort and condemn. Poetry was made for times like this. If I could create a hashtag it would be #protestthroughpoetry.
A door just opened on a street -
I, lost, was passing by -
An instant's width of warmth disclosed,
And wealth and company.
The door as sudden shut, and I,
I, lost, was passing by, -
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
Faith is a fine invention
For gentlemen who see;
But microscopes are prudent
In an emergency.
I Lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other Impetus
Is numb and vital-less
As t'were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.