MY GOLDEN FRIEND, EMILY DICKENSON 08-05-10

I have not the metaphors, nor the similes
Lined up for the experts in a perfect row
to scrutinize, critique my work with glee,
searching to find some flaw in my flow.
Then my friend brings a light of gold.

A little blue book rests delicately
It sits on my knees beneath me
as I sit on the steps, outside in the heat.

I read, not fearful, I feel her safety.
My mind peers out, I begin to see.
Emily, Emily!  You so humble me!
To an angel, I confess my deepest need.

She conveyed to me, what frightened me
I could not escape my worn out scripture.
Now, I can perceive a bigger picture.

The world does not orbit around me.
It has never been just about me
I exist for it, when will I believe?
My insipid perception has been deadly.

When I accept this fact, I’ll be set free.
I will love me and others willingly.
I'll see the beauty above and around me.
Emily, Emily, your soul surrounds me.

For neither fame nor fortune did you begin
To put down on paper, your thoughts to your pen
You refused publicity, and your fame.
which you held with the deepest disdain
though for you, it was so honorably gained.

You graciously chose a pure heart, instead.
As I crawl into my restless bed,
I place your words beneath my head.