I am...

I am in my pretentious mode again.

And so I decided to share with you this poem by Edgar Allan Poe which I greatly enjoy.

I think it sings (because the poem is so lyrical) of a person, a grown man who describes his own growth from a boy, because he was never quite able to fit in, finds himself unable to quite have the same compassion and emotional range as others normally do, throughout his life...

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