Illusion and Reality part 1

Romanticism. Our American Literature professor mentioned it to us when we were discussing Stephen Crane and Edgar Allan Poe's works and Realism.

"The dangers of being an English major: we are too romantic (not of romance like we know it today). This is illusion. But THIS is reality," he said. He was not talking about "romance" the way most of the people today view it. This movement influenced us greatly even before we knew what reality was. It was a movement that emphasized on happy endings, heroes, victories in battles, and people who do not get hurt. Those were the dangers of being an English major.

"Ever since, we had always read books until we forgot reality," he added. "All we saw was beauty."

My question is: is this even enough reason to explain ourselves? Romanticism. Oh, Shakespeare, I've adored your works too much.

That chasm engulfs the once sunlit meadow

beyond the forest beneath the now-grey clouds, across paradise where the sun kisses the earth.

That cruel chasm. That emptiness the meadow calls cruel, torturous.

That cruel chasm. That lonely chasm.

It had been a mistake. It had been a skid of the foot.

But the wind stirs; it shoves the clouds, refills the open space.

The wind stirs and clears the smog. That choking smog, the meadow mutters.

And the meadow was then a meadow, no longer covered, no longer shaded.

It was back to being a meadow. Everything else then, now back to page one

And now, finally, back to zero.

-Aine