emily dickinson, one week into february

i could write for miles on this poem's effect
on me throughout the years.

when i was fifteen, my english teacher presented
each of his students with two poems which he
felt represented them. 'the soul selects her own
society' and 'much madness is divinest sense',
two by emily dickinson.

spot-on. and so i share this with you all on an
early sunday morning as i sit here and look up
at the ceiling, questioning myself and my intentions and
all of sunday morning.

The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --

Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --

I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --

Like Stone -
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