Emily Dickinson. (№ 384705)

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 -
And then a Plank in Reason, broke,
And I dropped down, and down -
And hit a World, at every plunge,
And Finished knowing - then -




The sound of a funeral in my brain
And men in black there
All go - go - my
Mind tagging along.
But only they will sit,
As the dimensional battle
Knocks - knocks - like a drum -
Over-the-head.
And I hear a drawer raised
And creaking to endure no power -
Their leather boots arose -
And the world - wail,
It feels like the sky - bell,
And the being - only-the-ear,
And I, and silence split
And in a strange way - and collapsed
His mind broken,
And I'm flying all the down - and down -
And beat against the world, and every time
In the mind, leave life.