(no subject)
I am new to this community. (How I dispise an opening like this, but alas, I can think of nothing else) I am here for the same reason I would imagine you are: I want to express myself, to write and to be heard.
For my "initiation" I offer this poem:
Genre- trying to copy the great Romantics
Characters- Keats and I
Setting- In my mind
Form- Poetry
Other- This is based on Ode To a Nightingale, Ode on a Grecian Urn and Ode on Melancholy by Keats.
I shall go to Lethe, and quite forget
Every emotion I had felt before.
To delight my senses in its frost-like lava
Allowing my fluid blood
To be tained by its frozen call.
I long to transform myself
To be a part of Lethe itself
And replace my heart with its eternal ice.
To forget! How wonderful a feat
That cleanses me of "the weariness,
the fever, and the fret" of human existence
Whose nature I learnt from no other but Keats himself
Whom, upon apprehension
Wrote his immortal verses
That shall live forever
Like the Nightingale's song.
It would be bliss
When my blood is cold and solid
When I could not suffer sadness, or madness
Or Melancholy. Rather, I shall embrace this numbness
That is in truth a blessing in disguise
That grows so naturally from the soil of my soul
Like nightshade, yewberries,
Hemblock, and all other costly treats.
I yearn to be a "happy, happy bough"
Who can never bid its youth or its passions
Adieu, that my leaves may flourish through eternity
Although so dark and so solid
Is my slef-constructed Eden
So cold is my life-inducing fraught.
Still that is not too high a price to pay
To sign my name upon the Grecian Urn.
Yet...within the depth of my wintery soul
A voice cries, the very voice is like a warning bell:
"No, no, go not to Lethe!"
Ah, my wish's had "is at his lips
Bidding adieu"...Lethe has sunk,
And I find that in the midst of winter
Deep inside me burns an inextinguishable flame
So the icy flow that had surrounded me
Is mealting.