Today, as I was musing through my English midterm, breezing and frolicking, tip-toeing and springing- all in my imagination- I was brought back to reality as I glanced at my page and found a poem. 'Oh, no,' I whimpered... 'Not another one of those mysterious jungle-of-words considered genius by those with the superior intelligence to get them...' But this poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson is extraordinary. This, people, is beautiful!!

THE RHODORA:
ON BEING ASKED, WHENCE IS THE FLOWER?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self-same Power that brought me there brought you.

One of my all time favorites. It's brilliant.
Adonis

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My multi-talented brother... 

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Alrighty, fellas... Just a teaser to keep you, well, TEASED!
The first paragraph, a couple more on their way out of the processing plant of my mind.

To them who've endeavoured into the depths of love, into the tiniest affairs of it, have I written this, to those that quench their thirst from the fountain of youth that is love and on whose dinner table dines the embodiment of Beauty daily at night, and to them who can barely spend a waking moment, a sleeping moment, a tiny strand of the fabrics of life without their princes and princesses, without their love and indulgence, I pen this. I tell a tale- an historical fiction, if you would- as simple and as mysterious as shadows, as beautiful and brief as dawn. Once, I loved. I retell the story as dishonestly as suits my fancy: altered, modified, and enhanced, as to retell the story of none but imaginary beings thought up in a whim of imagination. This pure imagination I attempt to emblazon with the handiest tools man ever wrought--paper and pen. Remember, though, as you, wondering, journey through my blessèd fabrication, that it has metamorphosed from utter and rustic reality.

It'll be done sooner or later, my beloved. Keep reading, and I'll keep writing.
Adonis

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Spike Hair Adonis 

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I started this post with six minutes to spare, but posted it after today, or rather, after yesterday, meaning today. From the complexity of my tone, you can see how tired I am. Hitherto have I been honest with you. Today, I remain thus. Now goodnight.
Adonis

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The 'wanted' posters have went down, and the cowboys and 'gals have stopped their hunt for the infamous Spike Hair Adonis. But not according to rumor, fellas, I ain't dead. And neither should the chase for my head be '-'-'...
It's been a while since I've updated, and for a good cause: I've been quite busy!! I haven't had much computer time, either, and so I update here, from school. I'm glad you guys missed me, it makes me feel not hated, but then again, you guys might change your minds when you hear I'm not dead. I guess a large bounty is more important these days than a man's life. Sad realization. But a good realization I've had quite awkwardly inspired my title: I really miss this! Now I have to go, but I'll update later today. Pinkey promise.
-Adonis

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