Book #92

My life had stood a loaded gun by Emily Dickinson

This title features electrifying poems of isolation, beauty, death and eternity from a reclusive genius and one of America's greatest writers. 

I’ve previously made clear my feelings on poetry, and my ability to understand and appreciate it, but let me say again: I dislike it because I can rarely comprehend it.

In the interests of keeping this brief, and to prevent me from launching into another monologue on how I’m a complete doofus, and why oh why is there a vacuum in my brain where my love of poetry should be, here is my favourite poem from this collection:

I took my power in my hand
And went against the world;
‘Twas not so much as David had,
But I was twice as bold.

I aimed my pebble, but myself
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small?