“No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
       Wolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’d
       By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
               Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
       Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
               Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
A partner in your sorrow’s mysteries;
       For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
               And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.”

from Ode on Melancholy by John Keats

I feel like I have given poetry short shrift. I don’t know much about Keats. I see him as a mystic, a knower of things that are from beyond.

Embrace the melancholy. All beauty contains melancholy.

Maybe, it’s possible to somewhat bypass fear and anger by embracing the melancholy…let it in.