Yummm. Dickinson-inspired Poetry

The following poetry is part of  my English (American Romanticsm) Final Project... Eek! What a scary concept! Anyway- Enjoy:

First-- from the womb-- I realized I could move my mouth

To make such piercing sounds, 

And then-- could stretch my fingers

With which to grasp this pen.

But, with familiarity-- capabilities spoil.

I know my clutching and grasping at purpose is a child's tantrum.

Sometimes-- while my face is wet with tears and sweat--

I forget what my struggle is for.

In a lapse of consciousness I hear the calm hum of the universe,

And the excitement of my heartbeat as it drums with life's symphony. 

In this state-- My mind's metaphorical pot of gold is not at the end of a rainbow, 

But the gold is within the rainbow-- uncontained.

I may reach it-- not to grab it-- but to join it

For no reason-- beyond Reason. 

When I rest I think of thesis

On why my life begins--

When it ends,

And what plans to make for the middle,

But in a dream is when I learn why I'm alive. 

Occurring as naturally as sleep-- I need no magician or pendulum to lead my hypnosis.

I am selfless, but self-guided.

I will rise and sink with the sun--

Following the ellipse around heaven. 

you've read poem #1- here is #2... A little more imitative of Dickinson, I'd say: 

The moon revolves around the earth,

The fly-- around my head.

Yet my own path-- I never follow--

The gleaming suns'-- instead.

Am I blinded by my course?

Have I a mind to See? 

Or does my state of trudging

Prove incapacity? 

Or maybe mine's a broader path--

Far beyond the sky--

Unpaved, but for a purpose--

To constantly ask: Why?