Dear Emily,
It’s been a while,
Since, I wrote you this letter,
Expressing my gratitude towards you,
In death spilled ink.
Have you escaped depression?
As it traps you in the fogged basement,
Secluding you from society,
As we both search,
For an Unknown element, hope.
Has the winter been unfair to you?
As the cold numbs the pain,
Shivering your emotions away,
As the icicles freeze your heart,
You once felt love in.
Has death knocked on your door yet?
Reminding you of the loneliness,
Hidden as lingering shadows,
Becoming your worst nightmare,
Over the silent, silver moon.
Do you pray for happiness?
As heaven feels unattainable to you,
And the Bible becomes a stranger,
Of who you were meant to be,
Wrapped in a cocoon.
If I shall be frank,
Your poetry reminds me of riddles,
Written in complex stanzas,
Over eccentric dialect,
Only you and I can understand.
You are somebody,
Not nobody,
A phenomenal writer,
Who was wise beyond her years,
As your poetry lit the stars.
This is such a creative and thoughtful dedication to Dickinson, and that is amazing that you can share your admiration for her through your poetry. Good job at being creative and original too! As always, thank you so much for sharing with us, you are a truly talented poet.