autumn tint

3

紅葉信号機
緑の葉っぱが黄色に変わり、赤く紅葉する。そんな季節の移ろいを感じられる信号機です。赤信号だからと言ってイライラせず、自然に思いを馳せながらゆとりある安全運転で行きましょう。

Red leaves traffic light
The “red leaves traffic light” displays the signs for “proceed,” “attention,” and “stop” with a maple tree. The green maple tree turns yellow and then red just like the autumn tints. In this way, this traffic light evokes the change of the seasons. Instead of becoming upset because the light is red, let’s think about nature and drive safely and pressure free.

morning cuddles → park jimin x reader

Originally posted by bwipsul

✦ pairing: park jimin x reader
✧ genre: fluff
✦ word count: 383

The tuneful melody of the birds chirping awakened you from your comfortable slumber.

It was barely 6am; the only indication of light was the scarlet and Autumn tinted hues of the upcoming sunrise shining from the reflection of your glass window.

Strong arms wrapped around you tighter, enveloping you in their homely warmth. Warm breath tickled your neck and soft caramel locks nuzzled against your shoulder in an affectionate manner, causing all the butterflies in your stomach to awaken and erupt.

And suddenly, you knew exactly why your slumber was so calm and undisturbed.

“Jimin,” You whispered gently, shaking your body slightly in an attempt to pry the male off your body.

“Just 5 more minutes, Y/N.” He grumbled, his morning voice low as he held you even tighter against his chest.

You sighed defeated, turning around slightly to come face to face with him.

From this angle, you could see everything that comprised your beloved. He was not the Jimin the media had portrayed him as; no, he was the compassionate, romantic and hardworking man that you were proud to have fallen for. His tousled hair was messy, sticking up a little at the ends but still undeniably cute. One eye was opened and watching you attentively, crinkled from the small content smile that graced his rose coloured lips. The very grin that took your heart and deemed it his.

You absentmindedly glanced at the soft hands just mere inches from your own, adorned with faint intricate lines from the duvet cover. Slowly, you traced the familiar pattern with meticulous movements.

Suddenly, Jimin stopped your finger, carefully grabbing your hand and intertwining it with his own.

“I love you, Y/N.” He admitted with earnest, chocolate irises suddenly open as he awaited your reply with hidden nervousness.

In that moment, the sun’s rays perfectly reflected against the overwhelming emotions flooding his eyes. You could see it all: the both of you, hand-in-hand as you and him chased the night and the stars away; stolen midnight kisses in adrenaline pumping secrecy and his everlasting promise — a promise to be each other’s and only each other’s. All of which etched away and enclosed in expressive detail in the array of galaxies painted across his captivating mocha hues.

“I love you too.”

4

Pairing: Kili x Reader

Characters: Kili, the Company

Warnings: Angst, Drunk Kili

Word Count: 1,816

Note: I really hope this story is as perfect as the lovely person who requested it. Hope you like it!

Requested: 

Can you please write that the reader is human, and kili while celebrating the recovery of Erebor with the rest of the company, along with hundreds of others, gets awfully drunk and kisses the reader. The two have flirted with one another before and it was obvious that they had SOME feelings for each other. Reader quickly excuses herself out of embarrassment and sadness. She still wasn’t sure if she had strong enough feelings for kili and he had kissed the reader. She is sad because that was he first kiss and wanted it to be more meaningful


Your name: submit What is this?

“Tonight, we grandly feast with the Durin princes of Erebor.” Eira, my friend from Dale, who was also Fíli’s One, announced. She pushed her long hair behind her shoulders and gracefully stood from her seated position. I couldn’t help but admire her luscious locks that had a lovely whisky colour like the fallen leaves that darkened with the first rain of autumn. How such a tint could trick the eyes, it was as if one was peering at the sun through a jar of pine honey.  

I sigh, feeling my rapid heartbeat echo in my ears in nervousness. I stood in front of the full-length mirror and absentmindedly run my slender fingers over the gown that Kili had given me as a gift, after the descendants of Durin had emerged victorious in the battle against Azog. The gown was skilfully made from a soft, volant chiffon. And its sleeves were long and light. “Eira, do I look decent for the feast?” I question as I turn my gaze to the dwarrowdam. Eira frowns and regards me in disbelief.

“Decent?” She echoes. “You look much more than decent, (Y/N). You resemble the Goddess Yavanna, herself and when we enter the Great Dining Hall, everyone will come to know it.”

Hopefully, even Kili. I thought to myself as I return my gaze back at the mirror. I did not care of what the other guests thought how I looked but I did want to know what the dwarf prince’s reaction to this gown would be.

“Shall we?” Eira offered me her arm and we walked down the magnificent hallways of the Lonely Mountain as I felt the ends of my gown softly kiss my ankles. Throughout the comfortable silent walk, my mind wandered to the pleasant as well as the silly memories I had of Kili and a gentle smile graced my lips. 

Keep reading

Alone-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 lov’d-I lov’d alone.
Then-in my childhood-in the dawn
Of a most stormy life-was drawn
From ev'ry 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 roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold-
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d 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.

A welcome home Bughead drabble from me to you. I

Hi guys! Just wanting to say hi now that I’m home. I missed you all!

Warnings: Angst-trash and the slightest reference of depression.


Breathe.

Just breathe and let go.

I hold on tighter.

Breathe; just breathe and let go. He told me to. He was teaching me to.

I can’t.

He seemed to be the only light on in the room. He walks in so slowly, palms facing me as if to say he’s unarmed. He always walked in so warily and brought in with him a sense of peace and ease. I want to stand up and snatch him, pulling into me all that sense of peace and ease. I wanted to revel in it, engulf the ease he bought with him. I wanted to drink it; drink him.  I wanted him. I think I need him.

He was so light. Like Winter-chill easing into Autumn-leaves and orange tinted grey pavements. His touch was always reassuring and as if he fitted right into my burning frustration; he covered it like a safety blanket. The burning was out in an instant when he was safety enveloping me; swallowing me whole.

Speaking of burning. The burning had started again, the flames started licking me from the inside, all gasoline and matches – dynamite tick, tick, ticking. The flames were coming from all directions at me from the outside, now. I can feel them digging into my palms in the form of my sharp nails.

My head was starting to feel like it was entrapped in a vice. I had almost trained myself to ignore the constant throbbing but the stress I was dealing with at the moment was the vice tightening and there was only one place that could hold it at bay.

Jughead.

I was supposed to be perfect. As-pretty-as-a-picture sort of perfect. Dark-rimmed-eyes-and-pink-lips sort of perfect. Tighten my ponytail, let lace dance on me, I am satin in rough hands. Mom had taught me that I needed to be perfect and I needed to work hard because no one was going to serve me the world on a silver platter in the end.

But selfishly, I think that might be how it was turning out and everything was at my very finger tips because Jughead fit seamlessly into my world and gave me everything I wanted and Jughead was home. He was my home. My silver platter never shone as brightly in any other hands other than Jughead’s.

He was standing here, in my room; hands out and waiting for me, as they had been for the last two days, the arms I could barely bring myself to embrace.

It was so dark here – in my mind. I was shutting down and I didn’t know what to do. Shut down; go on, shut down, it’s too hard.  The only thing I knew how to do was to shut down, so piece by piece, I shut down a little more and Jughead was here to just be here. He brought me coffee, he read me out his latest works, he laughed about Archie and V and how they’re not in a relationship. He was just here and he didn’t stop anything to try and accommodate poor old Betty Cooper. He was the normalcy I forever crave.

He sits down on the edge of my bed and I don’t think we’ve spoken properly since I shut down. Once upon a time, he gave up the chance to be part of his own family just to try and fit in a little oddly in my stupid one and now everything that I had ever dreamed of was going to begin in a different city even if I was there or not.

My mom and dad are at a war with each other even though Polly hasn’t been pregnant in over a year. I don’t think they’d ever stop being at war with each other – I don’t remember when they were ever not at war with each other.

Go and see the world, go and be what you want to be. That was supposed to be my mantra but my world is in the room with me and what I want to be? I just want to be normal. Go and see the world, go and be what you want to be. Go and see the world…

I can barely pry my eyes away from my hands. I want to look up at him, tell him I’m sorry and that I just want to sit in here and watch all his favourite movies. But I can’t look up, I can’t meet his eyes. I know he’s sunkissed, I can smell it on his jacket that smells like the sun and menthols. I just want to lie with him and talk about crap. I just want him.

“Betty,” he says gently. “It’s not healthy sitting in here all day, you need your daily dose of vitamin D. Though not too much as you don’t want to get sunburnt.”

His attempts at humour always throws me and I laugh a little before letting my hands free and stretching them out, cracking my knuckles against my thighs. “I’ll crack a window,” I reply weakly.

“Ah, I don’t want to be rude or anything but it’s getting really stale in here and I think that your mom coming in to light candles,” he says pointing to my dresser. “Is sort of her way of saying it without having to say it.”

I roll my eyes and sure enough, there were several candles burning in the corner that I hadn’t noticed before. Mom would have snuck in at some point to check on me and to make sure I hadn’t done anything stupid, while I was asleep. “That has to be the nicest way anyone has ever told me that I smell, Jughead Jones.”

“People tell you that often?” he says chuckling but I see his hands are a little shaky as they reach out for mine, I let up and slowly meet his hands with mine.

He folds my hands over and looks at my palms, four small marks on each palm, the red a little brighter than the last time I had looked at them. I try to look away from him, I feel my cheeks turning red just like my palms. “I…” I don’t finish.

“Don’t say anything, it’s ok, just breathe,” he tells me.

“I don’t think I can,” I mutter, feeling the pressure building in my chest.

“If you’re talking, then you can. Come on, in and out.” he says, his own chest rising and falling and I try to match my breaths with his. His eyes seem dark-rimmed and blue-bright. His small smile is comforting and safe but his concern is dripping and oozing all over the carpet of my room, leaching into me. Spreading like a drop of ruby-red blood in a pool of water.

I keep going, in and out, our chests rising and falling in unison, his thumbs running over my palms. I felt sick. How many times had we gone through this routine? Where I would be out of action and he would be the only one willing to get me up and running again. His thumbs smoothing over these stupid, tiny, painful injuries. Where at the time, the release felt so damn good but made me resent myself a little more. Mom was so good at keeping up appearances but I can tell the signs, she’s just as broken as I am but she’s so good with make up and I think a little bit of the way she can recreate perfection on her face has leaked into her being.

Jughead was here, just like he always was, never pushing me but always prompting me. Sometimes it was the little things like reminding me I had to brush my teeth and sometimes, it was the big things.

Like telling me to let go when I have a grip on my own hands or nails digging into my thighs.

I take my last deep breath and he lets go of my hands, reaching up to move my hair out of my face. “I love you,” I say with a sigh. Our love was abundant. Our love sometimes felt smothering and it’s unnatural how something can keep moving so seamlessly – like the flow of controlling your own body and he was one half and I, the other, inferior half. It was staggering and swallowing – I’m swallowed whole.

He tilts his head, biting his lower lip and I know he can see that my eyes are barely meeting his. “Do you want to talk about it?” he licks his dry lips and sighs loudly, running a hand through messy, three-day-old washed hair.

I shake my head furiously and move closer to him on my bed, our knees touching and I just lean straight forward, my forehead hitting his chest. He wraps me up in his arms and rests his chin on my head. We are still both breathing, in and out, in and out: my new mantra. I keep my bravery in my head that is nestled against him.

He smells like tobacco and cheap deodorant but that smell has always been so comforting, I struggle to remember a day where my own body hasn’t been laced with that smell, his denim jacket is hard and ruggard against my face but I take this as a good omen because I know I haven’t been able to feel anything in days.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble against him. I don’t know if he heard me or not with my mouth muffled against his jacket but he exhales loudly and I think he heard me.

“Archie wants us to go over next door so he can see you. And it took a hell of a lot of man-handling to not let Ronnie through the door, she all but kicked the door in when I came up here.”

I laugh silently but I manage a smile. “You man-handled V?” I ask. Veronica was sharp and stinging like whiplash. Jughead was calm words and calmer movements.

He scoffs. “Oh yeah,” he says laughing. “Or maybe she man-handled me.”

“That sounds more like it,” I reply. “I can’t imagine you surviving a fight with Veronica and living to tell the tale.”

“What if I replaced Veronica with Archie and I did win the fight, is that a better tale?” he asks, moving away from me to place his hand under my chin and tilting me to meet him.

“I must admit,” I say quietly, “That would be a more believable tale, Mister Jones.”

He forces me to meet his eyes and I do, all deep blue and icy. I had tried to promise myself that I wouldn’t cry but I didn’t keep it. I feel a tear spill out and Jughead puts his lips to mine, running his tongue across my lips, pulling away and then placing a tender kiss on my forehead. “Stop crying,” he says in a whisper. “Angels don’t suit crying.”

He wipes the tear away with the pad of his thumb and wipes it on his jeans. “I don’t feel like and angel, Jug. I feel old.”

“If you don’t feel it, don’t be it.”

“I feel old, I feel my body is weak and my mind is weaker,” I tell him honestly.

He frowns and holds my hands tighter, I think he’s keeping my hands hostage as he’s not sure what they’d do. I don’t even know what they’d do. “Don’t force yourself to be strong, you don’t need to prove that to anyone,” he says, turning my hands over again to look at my palms. “You don’t need to prove it to yourself, either, Betty.”

I feel his glare on my palms, “Don’t look at them, I hate them. I bet you hate them too.”

Jughead groans and pulls me in tighter. “There is not a moment in time – ever – in which I would hate any part of you, Betty.”

A bit of courage grows in me and I reach up to Jughead’s beanie, pulling it off slowly and placing it in the bed between us, I close the barrier in between and I reach up to grab either side of his face, pulling him down to kiss him on the lips, my hands moving down his neck and my nails tracing patterns on him. “I love you so much, do you understand?” I ask him.

“Of course I do,” he replies.

My dimples cut deep into my cheeks and I blush red-pink, feeling hotter as the burn kisses them as well. His kisses again almost illuminate this stagnant night, it almost brightens the room – lifting the heavy. This day was painful inside me, I made this day even tougher for the guy who hates the first week of October every year.

I sigh, kissing him on either cheek and then again on the lips. “I’m sorry. And Happy eighteenth Birthday, Juggie.”

[His IC reading from a small story/poetry gathering on 5/28/17.  Poem is Alone by Edgar Allan Poe]

Slowly he walks up onto the stage, one tall black candle lit and held aloft in both his hands before him.  A dried black rose sits nestled in his hair, seeming a relic from long ago that should crumble to dust at the slightest touch.  His face is oddly somber and illuminated by the flickering candlelight as he casts a strangely glowing gaze across the assembled crowd.  Whether it is the candlelight or something more remains uncertain as he begins to speak quietly. 

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—

Slowly he moved his left hand from the candle, bearing it only in his right as he spread his arms in a wide gesture.  His movements were slow, ensuring the flame wavered and flickered but did not go out as he continued, an odd unearthly cadence and tone to his voice.  An almost hint of an echo or duality. 

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 lov’d—I lov’d alone—

His left hand raised, long nailed fingers wrapped around the fragile rose in his hair.  Those closer could see the petals begin to crack and crumble as he tugged it free.  The hand with the candle, now bearing the trails of wax as it burned, stayed out to the far side of him as he raised the removed rose aloft before his stationary form as if an offering. 

Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—

The hand holding the rose lowered as the one bearing the candle moved forward again slowly.  His gaze turned to the brittle flower in his grasp.  Fragile, breakable…like so many other things in this world.  His lips curled into a strange sad smile as he continued. 

From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—

The hand holding the flower closed tightly as he paused momentarily.  The petals crumbled and crushed beneath his pale fingers as he closed his eyes slowly.  He moved the candle up, closer now to his mouth between the hand holding the now ruined flower petals and his mouth as he finished. 

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—

Without opening his eyes he blew the candle out, the breath scattering the rose petals into the air as he fell silent.  He paused, standing still for a moment longer before lowering his hands, one bearing the last remnants of the rose and the other with wax trails and dots along pale flesh.  A small dip of his head was given as he opened his eyes and walked off the stage toward his previous seat with nothing more offered. 

Precognition (Pt. I)

Tyler Joseph Series

Summary: Tyler Joseph, a man with a phenomenal life anyone could ever wish for, has been frequently dreaming of an unfamiliar twelve year old girl. A pigment of his imagination, that unintentionally sabotages his ability to tell the difference between fantasy and reality.

(A/N): First of all, I got the story line from a request. Second, I‘ve been working on this for a quite amount of time and I believe this is the most graphic work of mine, so please give me some feedback, I‘d highly appreciate it x PS please be patient with me, I swear all of this will make sense

Words: 2,000

Warnings: Bipolar behaviour

Originally posted by 21pilotsgifs

She sits on the dried out, split and warped seat. The chains make quiet squeaking sounds as they swing back and forth, managing to sound deafening in the eerie night. They‘re rusted and look like they could barely support the chunk of rotten wood, making him worry about the girl playing with the swing. She has her eyes closed, enjoying the almost floating sensation as the world blends together and swings faster and faster.

‘Who is she?‘, Tyler ponders to himself for the hundreds time, ‘And why is she always here?‘

Keep reading

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 lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry 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 roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d 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, “Alone”, 1829)

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 Allen Poe

Gangster Yoongi. Requested by @gpawtabs



“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 Allen Poe 


Dan's Liveshow 9/20/16

- He’s wearing his tshirt from the Australian wildlife reserve and his hair is straightened

- Roasting people live is too much pressure, don’t make it a thing

- “Time to wake up, BITCH”

- Danception is back

- His bed is stripped back and naked

- Dan doesn’t want to see any pumpkin emojis until at least October 1st

- New danisnotonfire video; I Nearly Blinded Myself

- He didn’t exaggerate anything that happened in the video

- “The muffin was worth it, it was vindication”

- The video of Phil hurting his hand got more views on Instagram than any other social media

- Dan hasn’t listened to the Twenty Øne Piløts cancer cover yet

- Louise (Sprinkleofglitter) was watching the liveshow

- The tshirt he’s wearing is one of his pajama tops

- “Imagine if I was named Danny D”

- Him and Phil will watch Food Wars season 2 after they finish Avatar

- “Real Satan. Oh my god, guys. Real Satan is here in the chat. I’m fangirling right now”

- The vegan restaurant was good. He brought Anthony Padilla there once

- Existentialism can be sad and inhibiting but also very freeing. It depends on his mood

- Louise texted him

- Dan repeatedly followed and unfollowed pewdiepie to annoy him and accidentally left it on unfollow

- Spooky Week is probably happening

- The DAPGO video on Phil’s channel is shameless promotion

- “Phil is often dapper”

- Pewdiepie tweeted Dan #YouTubeDramaBoughtToStart

- Everyone is sending him their birthdays

- AHS talk (no spoilers)

- He is confused by AHS season 6

- Phil bought some 3 wick candles from Bath and Body Works and they smelled way to strong for their small flat

- He wants to go on tour again at some point in his life 

- Dan made sweater weather happen, he is the Lord of Autumn

- Phil bought them pumpkin spice lattes to celebrate autumn

- Ear tints are a thing

- Phil deleted his header and twitter bio like a madman

- “Were you ready? I wasn’t ready. We are all, as the kids would say, SHOOK”

- They are going back to America this year

- “Please abduct me and save me from this hell”

- Dan’s live show is a mostly kinkshame free zone

- “WOOO”

- Tabinof is their magnum opus 

- Dapgo is a massive shitpost

- Dan takes no responsibility for Phil’s houseplants 

- “Good to see you’re having fun with the shrimp, Phil”

- Dan got himself a spontaneous red velvet cupcake 

- “Agh, it was so moist. It just had this delicious moist sponge and just the icing, there was so much of it. Shit. It was just like, it was just do good”

- His Pokemon Trainer cosplay is a waste now that neither Dan nor anyone else gives a shit about Pokemon Go

- Kanye’s Instagram talk

- “Dipping buttered toast in soup is one of the best things in life tbh”

- Dan dabbed

- “Why do you have to meet somebody in real life to enjoy communicating with them? I don’t think that there’s a difference. I think it’s good to have real life friends to tether you to your physical reality but there is nothing lesser of internet friends”

- He thinks male gender roles are much more masculine in Austrailia than in the UK

- Dan and Phil are considering uploading the rest of Undertale in a big block AKA Undertale Week

- The October Phandom Shitstorm is about to start

- There will be a “tease” on the danisnotonfire channel tomorrow

- There will be trailers for the tatinof documentary on Phil’s channel and trailers for the tatinof show on Dan’s channel

- He whistled the Totoro theme

- He thinks a Halloween birthday would kinda suck

- Guess the crime?!?!?

- PiaNO (dat pun tho)

- He won’t give you bios because your bio should represent you, not him

- Closing message about self expression and the real importance of social media

- He likes having physical copies of books

- “50 years!?!? You want me, in this liveshow, to name a pet that may have that name for half or more of your total lifespan!?!? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!? NO! NOOO!!!”

- Shameless dapgo and tatinof promo #spon

- “Have a red velvet cupcake and for fucks save dip some toast in your soup. BYE”

Phil mentions: ||||| ||||| ||||| ||||| ||

“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 lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry 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 roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d 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

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

Alone-Edgar Allen 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.