Hello readers and fellow bloggers. It’s been a week since I last posted. How are you all? Today I just wanted to post a poem I found interesting and that was written by Allen Edgar Poe. I found it interesting because in the first couple lines into the stanza it basically mentions how from childhood he felt and was different from everyone else. The way he saw things and his passions it was different from everyone else and so he was alone. Well at least that is my interpretation of the first lines of the poem.

Growing up I felt exactly the same. No one understood me and my way of seeing and understanding things. And when I tried to explain myself it in many cases just made matters worse because I was different. So I ended up feeling alone and lonely because there was no one at the time I could talk to about all of the things I was thinking about and feeling. But being different isn’t something bad and something to be ashamed of. A first I used to hate being different from everyone else but that is what makes me unique from everyone else, doesn’t it?

Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

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.

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