ALONE-Edgar Alan Poe

Some poetry in this blog will be the work of others, and so noted.  Much I hope will be my own.  For reasons of my own, my ability to write seems to be resurfacing, and I pray that it be in some part, the poetry I used to enjoy writing.

I want to begin where I think I left off, with a poem by Edgar Alan Poe, a favorite poet of my own.  Reasons, I am not so sure why-Initially maybe he captured the dark side, but it is in my view depending on where you are in life, what you put to paper, and what you will and won't allow yourself to speak out loud.

One goal is to just learn to speak it aloud, but ancient history requires my thought process to happen a bit differently.  Think-see-and then if I can muster the courage?  Say what I think.  Why it's hard for me is not much different than anyone else.

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view. 

Edgar Allan Poe

Special thanks to www.poemhunter.com/