It was not death

--------------------

 

It Was Not Death, For I Stood Up

 

It was not Death, for I stood up,

And all the Dead, lie down-

It was not Night, for all the Bells

Put out their Tongues, for Noon

 

It was not Frost, for on my Flesh

I felt Siroccos-crawl-

Nor Fire-for just my Marble feet

Could keep a Chancel, cool-

 

And yet, it tasted, like them all,

The Figures I have seen

Set orderly, for Burial,

Reminded me, of mine-

 

As if my life were shaven,

And fitted to a frame,

And could not breathe without a key,

And 'twas like Midnight, some -

 

When everything that ticked has stopped-

And Space stares-all around-

Or Grisly frosts-first Autumn morns,

Repeal the Beating Ground-

 

But, most, like Chaos-Stopless-cool-

Without a Chance, or Spar-

Or even a Report of Land-

To justify-Despair.

 

Emily Dickinson

Done