In an on-going attempt to broaden my literary horizons, I found a collection of poems by Emily Dickinson. I have really enjoyed her poetry thus far, and look forward to more. Among the poems I've read so far is this short, insightful gem that I thought my internet friends might enjoy:
The Mystery Of Pain
Pain has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
(-Emily Dickinson)
