Edgar Allen Poe (and NIHIL EX NIHILO)
it was my choice or chance or curse/ to adopt the cause for better or worse/ and with my wordly goods and wit/ and soul and body worship it.
Edgar Allan Poe
though i turn i fly not/ i cannot depart/ i would try, but try not/ to release my heart/ and my hopes are dying/ while, on dreams relying/ i am spelled by art/ thus the bright snake coiling/ 'neath the forest tree/ wins the bird, beguiling/ to come down and see/ like that bird the lover/ round his fate will hover/ till the blow is over/ and he sinks-like me.
Emily Dickinson
it struck me every day/ the lightning was as new/ as if the cloud that instant slit/ and let the fire through/ it burned me in the night/ it blistered in my dream/ it sickened fresh upon my sight/ with every morning's beam/ I THOUGHT that storm was BRIEF/ the maddest, quickest by/ but Nature lost the date of this/ and left it in the sky.