Mis Escritos Y Pensamientos

I'm not good with odes, at least, not rhyming ones. So, don't worry, I won't even try. Trust me, you owe me your thanks.

Today is a VERY special day, and I almost missed it. If I had realized what day it was, I my attire would have been assembled completely differently this morning. A time to stop and ponder the questions, "Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?" Perhaps I would have even have taken time to admire the "ashen and sober sky."

Of course I am speaking of the 200th birthday of Edgar Allan Poe. Yes, it was 200 years ago on this very day, that into the world came one of America's most interesting writers. His birth was probably the same as most others, he was born. His life was, well let's just be honest, too complex and weird, even for soap operas. His death is still shrouded in mystery, but his lines live on. Yes, I know what you're thinking, "Christa, why are you writing about some weird guy who was a psychotic pedophile?" Well, when you put it like that, I do feel a little bad about writing about him, but still, his writings fascinate me.

With such words as
"I was a child and she was a child
in this kingdom by the sea:
but we loved with a love that was more than love,
me and my Annabelle Lee."
people are often disgusted, but you know what goes through my mind?

"Wow, that rhymes really well."

Please refer to the aforementioned fact that I cannot rhyme. I think that I might have a rhyming deficiency, therefore, I am in awe of those who can actually rhyme.I am so enthralled with this dead man and his works, that when I found myself in Baltimore this past summer, I had to visit his house and grave. Well, we drove right by his house, because there was no way I was getting out of my car in that part of town, but his grave was fascinating.



This is me in front of Poe's new grave, while the picture above is his old grave. What you can't tell here is that I am wearing a t-shirt with the poem The Raven. See, I like Poe.

I really can't grasp or convey my fascination with this man, part of it has to do with his strange death. A large part probably has to do with the mysterious man that still comes to his grave. Perhaps this fascination is something fleeting, "only this and nothing more." I guess all I have to say now is to end, and there is no other way to end this blog about Poe than to conclude with his most memorable lines. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"