Isn’t Romanticism dead already?


A few weeks ago, I kept getting stuck on writers block. I couldn’t understand what was going on, I was having thoughts coming out of my head and fill the pages about lost love that was never found; feelings which I’m currently somewhere between a rock and a hard place. But I wasn’t getting the same satisfying feeling. Everything felt overdone and not thinking fresh thoughts. Until three weeks ago, when a similar theme kept repeating and reappearing itself in my classes. People who were melancholy, loved human and regular nature, and expressed emotion of lost love were the Romantics. They didn’t want to face any difficult changes that would rethink the course of human events. When I was reading poems from Tennyson, Keats, and Coleridge, I think my mind literary popped. Such poetic detail with over the top romantic language and the content of those poems were usually relating to self discovering of oneself or of another. We are all trying to figure out each other and where are all going to end up in the next 5-10 years, so why are we questioning so much? Why do we let questions take over our thoughts, our minds? Hell, even our first dates can get exhausting, playing ping pong with your opponent with more questions thrown back and forth. So I sat at Bradley Hall and wondered if being a romantic really is such a bad thing. Maybe there was sometime to this idea of a lost melancholy person trying to find new light at the end of the day without authority stepping in. But for now, enjoy this poem that I have created.

‘Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more’

I do not believe I am a romantic,

How on earth can I be that sort of individual?

For someone who shares feelings as much as an English setter,

wagging its tail, patiently waiting for a treat from its “master”,

I do not tend to voice my opinion well.

The same dogs, with long snouts and on all fours,

wish to rationalize their thoughts as these people

summon them to their duties outside. It can be greatest

emotion in the universe, to be entranced by another spirit,

more exquisite and unreal for the heart then any other feeling–

happy, sad, angry, horny. All of these expressions explode when

two people are one, together. My girlfriend keep screaming

through the misty telephone, “He is just not filling up

your love tank anymore. Where is the respect?”

I have a dream that my four little children will one day

live in a nation where they will not be judged.

You have grown out of my wicked ways,

with the bone still drooling in your mouth. I am wearing

a skin tight red dress for Cupid’s Day, with Sus,

who is in my apartment, changing into my favorite LBD and

red shoes to top off. We are each other’s date, secretly hoping

that an angel will strike us with doves to fly with later that evening.

Why did you run, run, run run, run

all the way home, your home, a separate home. Seems like

you thought of everything, didn’t you? Bad dog!

Maybe next time I shop for Schnucks $5.99 Piont Nior,

while the young couple searching for sweet and sour mix,

I won’t judge them so harshly. Staring at their awkward public displays of affection.

Let them be in love while I will go off to get off.

I warn you, do not, and I sincerely mean

DO NOT take these feelings as Romanticism.

Dead like our English setter, buried in the back yard,

with a bone stapled in his mouth forever.


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