Alone

my feeling runs in the world like the notes on your piano hit it and you'll hear me talk to me and you get to know me talk to me the way you play your favourite piece and you get that side of me that will correspond to your favour love me, hate me, just dont dont talk to me the notes in me would go awry like the piano that has not been tuned for ages my sensitivity is a red hot iron bar dipped into water it hisses and fumes my joy, hurt, happiness the way lilies edge little by little in their bloom ensemble under the soft morn light inspired by 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