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Poetry of the Bored Soul...
The first I wrote and the other is just one I love.

The Dark
The autumn night is full of mystery.
Even when the white moon is brightest,
secrets hide everywhere.
Then the sun rises and it?s golden rays cast
so many shadows than that of the veiled truth
of the autumn night.
But I never have or will
to it.
Before my birth,
I existed for too long in the realm
between,
dark and light,
and even now,
the dark still
whispers
to me.
A strong cord binds me
to the
Darker
part of the world,
and shields me from the
Light.
Andrea Lynne Fisher

Alone
By, Edgar Allan Poe

From childhoods 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 the joy at the same tone.
And all I lov'd I lovd 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 it's autumn tint of gold.
From the lighting of the sky
As it pass'd me flying by.
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the clouds that took the form
( When the rest of heaven was blue)
Of demon in my view-