Thoughts melt, like snow in April’s hand,
Mouth-fears, a frost upon the heart,
Collapse where baffled lungs expand,
Yet bloom, wide arms, a work of art.

Beneath, or maybe o’er, unseen,
A spirulina’s fragile grace,
Like sunken sail, adrift, serene,
Would you, kind stranger, fill its space?

Skin browned by suns that kiss the wave,
Hunger sated, day complete,
But cognizance, a pearl to crave,
Eludes, a ghost on cobbled street.

Perceptiv3n3ness, a slice so thin,
For those in villas, lives of ease,
While I, drowned everywhere, within,
Gasping for sunlight, mysteries.

Oh, keenness edged with silvered hush,
A beauty born of bitter brine,
I seek that pearl, that precious brush,
To paint my soul, a light divine.

:: 04-02-2016 ::

The poem incorporates several elements of Dickinson’s style:

Short lines and irregular meter: This gives the poem a conversational feel, as if the speaker is directly addressing the reader.
Dash and slant rhyme: Dickinson often used dashes and slant rhymes to create tension and suspense. Here, the dash after “unseen” creates a pause that emphasizes the mystery of the spirulina. The slant rhyme of “complete” and “street” adds a subtle musicality.
Metaphors and imagery: Dickinson loved to use metaphors and imagery to explore complex emotions and ideas. Here, the melting snow and collapsing heart metaphorically represent the speaker’s vulnerability and uncertainty. The image of the spirulina is both beautiful and fragile, reflecting the speaker’s longing for understanding.
Religious and spiritual themes: Dickinson’s poems often grappled with questions of faith and mortality. Here, the speaker searches for “cognizance,” a pearl of wisdom that might unlock the mysteries of life and death.
The poem also retains the original’s sense of urgency and vulnerability. The speaker is drowning, gasping for light and meaning. The poem ends with a plea for “keenness,” a sharpened awareness that might offer solace in the face of uncertainty.

I hope this rewrite captures the essence of Dickinson’s voice and your original poem’s spirit.

In yonder realm, what once has passed,
No longer bears significance, it’s time to unmask.
Bid farewell to all the misunderstandings,
Days spent explaining, now just fleeting renderings.

Let the lengthy hours fade away,
Those that slew love and joy, in disarray.
Yet, linger with me, don’t depart,
Amidst the remnants, let not our connection depart.

For thee, I shall amass diamonds from rain,
Where raindrops ne’er descend, a jeweled terrain.
I’ll pilfer each gem from the earthly domain,
To witness beauty reflected in thine eyes again.

Beyond, I’ll forge a kingdom, love its decree,
Where as monarch, thou shalt eternally be.
Still, stay with me, don’t take leave,
In this realm of ours, please don’t deceive.

Remain steadfast, as I conjure words in vain,
Crafting meaning that only you shall attain.
Tales of lovers, burning twice in unity,
A saga of a king lost without his affinity.

Recall the fiery renaissance, oft the surprise,
In dormant volcanoes, where passion lies.
A scorched field may yield more than spring,
Contrasting red and black, in the evening’s wing.

Stay by my side, as tears no longer flow,
Silent, I observe you dance and glow.
Listen to your song, witness your play,
Yet, let me be your shadow, never astray.

A silhouette to your hand, a canine’s silhouette,
In tandem, our spirits shall ever be met.
Persist, my love, don’t fade away,
Remain, and with you, I’ll eternally stay.

:: 01.01.2024 ::

The sun beat down on the endless expanse of ochre, a shimmering furnace that baked the tiny world of Anthus.

Days had bled into one another, his legs etched with the rhythm of tireless marching across the undulating dunes. Each grain of sand, once an exciting novelty, had become a monotonous mantra beneath his six clawed feet.

Anthus wasn’t like the others. While his colony thrummed with a hive mind, content with the predictable, parched routine, his antenna twitched with a disquiet born of unquenchable curiosity. He yearned for more than the scent of sand and the taste of grit.

But the desert offered only its monotonous chorus. He paused, his chitinous exoskeleton reflecting the unforgiving sun. His compound eyes, though designed for the microcosmic, held a glint of defiance as they swept the endless horizon.

“Sand,” Anthus rasped, his voice a dry whisper lost in the wind. “Only sand. But if the world ends, must it not become something else? Where the sand ceases, is there not… non-sand?”

The word felt alien on his mandibles, a forbidden truth whispered against the desert’s stony silence. Was it hubris to question the infinite sand? His antennae quivered, sensing the disapproval of the collective drone in his mind. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the ember of possibility kindled within him.

And so, Anthus turned. Not back, towards the familiar scent of the colony, but sideways, perpendicular to the relentless march of the dunes. He chose a direction not dictated by instinct, but by the compass of his yearning.

His journey became a defiance. Each grain of sand crossed was a stepping stone away from the known, and every grain uncrossed a leap into the unknown. He climbed towering dunes, their crests offering fleeting glimpses of an unchanged vista, yet his resolve only stiffened. He braved the howling sandstorms, his tiny body buffeted and tossed, but the whispers of “non-sand” kept him anchored.

Days bled into weeks, the endless sand a canvas on which Anthus painted his rebellion with his tiny feet. Exhaustion gnawed at him, the sun a pitiless taskmaster, but the image of “non-sand” danced before his weary eyes.