Alone Poem by john tiong chunghoo

my feeling runs in the world
like the notes on your piano
hit it and you'll hear me
talk to me and you get to know me
talk to me the way you play your favourite piece
and you get that side of me
that will correspond to your favour
love me, hate me, just dont dont talk to me
the notes in me would go awry
like the piano that has not been tuned for ages
my sensitivity is a red hot iron bar dipped into water
it hisses and fumes
my joy, hurt, happiness
the way lilies edge little by little
in their bloom ensemble
under the soft morn light

inspired by

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