Morning

Leaning upon the vile sunshine I winced
And submitted to my sombre frailty; 
From the neighbouring heights the rays have rinsed
To luster my incapability. 
Was it a grief of the form of regret
Or some other hue of wound that I've felt? 
Or 'haps 'twas other emotions that'd sat—
I knew not—the heat had my senses melt. 
So there I sat in the stunning daylight,
Left my stupored heart in the damn'd dark;
Then tasted a sunny hell, burning bright, 
And lived bashfully by the shameful mark. 
I then found out—Dickinson was truthful—
After great pain, came a feeling—formal.

Dale Chou
2001-04-24