I wrote this poem many, many years ago. It was part of an assignment in school where we were studying Emily Dickenson. To say that I found her work dark and impressionable was an understatement. It scared my Dad to death.
Oh how I wish to know the comfort of that warm blanket of death. To have it enfold me as a lover would and squeeze from me my last breath.
Oh how I wish the lights would fade, from my eyes near blinded with tears. And wipe away with one great swipe, the dreaded oncoming of years.
Oh how I wish to hear no more, the song of a gleeful bird. For I don’t wish my tumultuous thoughts to ever be disturbed.
Oh how I wish I had the gall to claim what is rightfully mine. The hope, the thought, a care or whim, that serenity will some day be mine.
Oh how I wish you’d take me God, into your precious home. And let me wander day and night, always, completely-alone.
5/1/78