Thursday, January 6, 2011

Like Dead Flowers

I just stopped believing in happy endings and safe harbors I could find. After all, love is an emotion that calls for everything I am not. I’ve gotten so good at shooting down any emotion this tired world can bring that my mind is full of screaming hyperactive flaws. I just want to lie down because the colors from these inconvenient fireworks hurt my eyes and only remind me of the failed love than began last summer in the field of blue flowers.
So I returned to the scene of the crime.
The color of tranquility and intellect and healing found on the soft petals. I plucked a single stem with a snap. It felt cool and wet against my fingertips, slightly sticky to the touch from the chlorophyll. To me, this symbolized many things, including the man I loved when he asked me to marry him in this very spot.
But, of course, the world is full of charming devils with silver tongues. He was a liar.
The fight we had with the sharp words splintering the night, he said, “You’ll never be what I need.”
I replied, “But, oh, how I could make you bleed!”
Since then, I’ve known the border lines we drew between us and keep far on my side of the battlefield. But when I find myself dreaming about the past, I return and pick a blue flower to lay it down somewhere to die. When its wilted petals are brown and crackle like the sound of his dry, sarcastic wit, I feel more at ease. I know that this love is forever gone, but I’m not that kind and at least that was my life.
But you had to come along, didn’t you? Where do I go when every “no” turns into “maybe”? So what do I do with this sudden burst of sunlight, catching me with my umbrella when I think about the time I used to share with him? This cross-indexes every weatherman’s report.
I think it’s time for winter to well up so I can stop coming back to needlessly pick flowers. I think it’s time for me to heal. 

Community Assignment: "The Life of John Keats; A Romantic Poet"

After going through many blogs created by the groups of students, I found one containing posts that caught my eye.  These posts came from the blog "The Life of John Keats; A Romantic Poet"; it holds the analysis and interpretations of Keats’ various works.  The overall look of the blog held a simple and non-distracting look.  I liked the poll asking about our favorite romantic poet; it was a fun thing to add to the blog project.  The “Helpful Resources” of course helped; it had not only sources for the different poets but also sources that helped with English writing.  To give a better understanding of Keats’ works acted as this blog’s main goal, but to also help list resources of other poets obtained as a great touch.  I found that the section containing Keats’ poems was a smart idea, because it allows the readers to follow a post along with a poem.  There was a lot of thought put into creating this blog. 
A few posts caught my eye like the one “On Fame”.  The person connected Keats’s poem to the pop culture today, so it relates to current main stream in my life; I can understand the post better.  I liked how they mentioned the difference in who fame follows today and Keats’ view on whom it follows.  The most interesting posts I read would be the poems “Something to Nothing” and “The Moon is Mourning Beside Me”; they held a deep meaning and story behind it all.  The first poem described the life of a loved one from the start and letting them go.  It had great visuals along with the description of self conflict.  The second poem also revealed a love story; they couldn’t stand the separation from their love.  Although not in a literal form and hard to grasp at first, it was a good poem to interpret. 
            For those who are new to Romanticism or want to learn more about Keats, this blog provides a variety of different interpretations on the same theme from Keats, and they are all on different works.  I noticed that a lot of Keats’ works were about love, yet the works had a dark feel.  With these analyses in the blog, viewers will get a better understanding of Keats’ and his works.