A Poem to the Poe soul, Byronic, Satieric and Thorou

The luring darkness which so entices me at first is ursurped. For the underlying prescence quickly comes forth. Behind the gloom there is much frailty, behind the repellement , a vault of desire.
No one could keep up with you could they? Why would you even try? No, its best to let things be, for another day, month, decade.
And so your life swept by. Being alone isn't so bad when you can only be comforted by yourself. You choose to walk a lonely road, and find company in things which could never leave you. Nature, books, thoughts became the protagonists of your life .
Stepping away from the interminable flow of society and its triffles, you write. How can they understand? The things considered impertinent and unimportant, are to you quite pertinent and of the utmost importance.
A martyr of your times, you'll open the doors to thousands after you.
The coldness which appears of heart is only a defence for the effects the world has on your shoulders. You see what most ignore , in anger you disown the people you grew up with, the only ones you know.
"There is Society where None intrude"