Creative Writing: Favorite Place

There are a lot of places I love to visit, but I really enjoy using my imagination to create 'my world'.

There are several realms in this world and I will describe the first. There is a treeline made of birch and oak, you see big, fluffy snowflakes falling down, like little kisses on everything they touch. Despite the snowfall, you see plush green grass path leading to cozy huts filled with spiced ciders and coffees.

Now, lets walk beyond the treeline, into the spring and summer realm. The bark on the trees is dark and wet, the little leave shoots are the brightest green and smell of vanilla mint. There is a lazy meadow filled with wild roses and winged faeries. At the heart of this scene is a pond. Not just any pond, a pond to rival Acheron, pure, clear waters, smooth pebbles cover the bottom of this glassy pool, little frogs flit about and when you stick your feet off the pier, the most peculiar looking little orange fish suck on your toes and fly around on an unknown mission.

Let us retire to the third and final realm, so far at least. This is the most ethereal realm. Let me build this from the ground up: picture a cratered surface, basically the Moonn, it glows a silvery shine that looks as if it could quench the deepest thirst. The craters on this surface are terrariums that contain things that look like tidal pools but contain creatures you have never seen. There, I reside with My Love. We lay here, forever. Death's kiss is not welcome here, only Serenity. Our hands are intertwined, we rule this world. We love this world. This world is ours.

Broken Hearted

Sure, I'll break your heart today
I'm just saving you your tomorrow
Baby, don't waste your time.
Honey, it ain't gonna work.
Believe me when I say, "I'm sorry,".
Or don't.
It doesn't matter.
I am the parasite.
You will go down
And I will move on
The sole survivor of our age old affair

My Mind (Part 1)

My love and I,
We live on the Moonn.
We wrap ourselves in moonnbeams,
We fill our hairs with stars.
We dance until we cannot,
Time is the unknown Stranger
We care for none,
Save each other.
Lovers, til last
Death's kiss doth remove mine lips from his.
My lover and I.

My Initial Analysis of Annabel Lee (sans other opinions as well as proper formatting.)

The beach or the ocean could be associated with relaxation, young love, and a certain whimsy towards said love. Young love is often all consuming. The initial attraction combined with the infatuation causes the young couple’s thoughts and actions are over-shadowed by their inner passions. In the poem, Poe says, “And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me,” the way that he only mentions her point of view could be indicative of a certain pride in the fact that someone loved him and that their thoughts resided solely on him. His past had been filled with much heartache and rejection from the world (The Baltimore Literary Heritage Project). The idea that someone that he loved, loved him back, was a romance he could not refuse, no matter what the cost.

In the second stanza, he refers to them as ‘children’. Typically, children are representative of innocence, and purity, and un-bridled curiosity towards anything new. “But we loved with a love that was more than love – I and my Annabel Lee,” says Poe. One interpretation would say that though there is a certain child-like element, this love they shared was not mere triviality, it was the love that could crush a thousand men and make a million girls cry. There is much reference to time and age, in Annabel Lee, as would indicate its relation to their love as well as the people themselves. Night and adults are depicted as being the enemy and eventual destroyer of the entire relationship. In the beginning of the second stanza, Poe states that ‘..the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me,” and later, after Annabel Lee is taken from him, he says, “The angels, not half do happy in heaven, Went envying her and me,”. Seraphs are child angels, and this again points to the metaphoric age difference between them and the rest of the world.

It also notes that his love was stolen away by her older, whether this be figurative or not is up for debate, ‘kinsman’. It says he came, “And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulcher,” Also up for debate is if this is figurative for an unwanted marriage or for literal death. Either way, her death is described as a cold event. Perhaps her love had ebbed and she moved on, or perhaps she caught a nasty illness and her cold corpse was all that remained of their once love.
The poem ends by saying that no matter what other people, who may or may not know what they are talking about, say, and any supernatural being, good or nefarious, “can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.” Poe goes on to boldly state that not a night goes by that he does not think or dream of her as he lays by her tomb.

Thus quoth the raven...

The Raven

by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1845)


Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never- nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by Horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting-
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!

Part Two:

Ozymandias

Ozymandias
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Part one:

We, as humans, tend to fancy ourselves as great and important beings. This is out nature. Most learn that while we are important, we can only accomplish what the Lord allows. Ozymandias is a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley that narrates the tale of a king who had not learned this and what became of his self-importance.

I find that the choice of the word 'antique' in this poem is interesting. When I see this, I think of an antique land as maybe being a long-forgotten, and thus romanticized, place. The history of this place would be so old that it was barely remembered. The policies, rulers, people, and practices of this place could only be mere speculation. The work of, most likely, thousands of people, obsolete.

Along side the pride of the people, is the pride of their ruler. The king, Ozymandias, is described as how the typical villain/ruler is: proud, cruel, and in the end, inconsequential to the fate of the world. It would almost appear naturalistic, the way that the narrator portrays that the desert has taken over what was once a great and mighty statue of a self-declared hero.

The pride of this man is probably what ended him. Whether it be by the revolt of the people or that mind set that he was invincible and impervious to the forces of nature and time. The Bible does say that pride comes before a fall, and God is not one to flake on His promises.