One of my favorites poets ever is Emily Dickenson. I’m not sure why she was considered so ‘dark’. She wrote beautifully of a complicated world. She spent some time writing about the fear instilled in everyone about hell and her own fear of eternal life or, at times, her longing for it. Maybe it was this common curiosity about living forever that drew me to her. Much like the beauty Vincent VanGogh found in the Starry Night or Sun Flowers, she seemed to see beauty in everyday things. The poem that shows this best and I love the most, is about the color yellow in nature. Seriously.
Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets,–
Prodigal of blue,
Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover’s words. continue reading…
