Books, novels, poems etc seem to have some infuriatingly dominant influence over my seemingly weak being. It may possibly be that I am just insane or in fact, it has the same effect on everyone else; overly-imaginative freaks who are too insecure to crawl out of their dark caves and face the judging light of society…that was slightly too dramatic.
I tend to ponder on how amazing the mind of a writer must be, in order to create a piece of literature so captivating it has the power to influence an individual. Many that I have come across, that hold this magical power are; Hardy’s Tess Of D’Urbervilles, Bronte’s Jane Eyre, Rothfuss’ The Name Of The Wind and many more. It’s almost saddening, to think that there are so many writers out there who have the gift to fabricate a golden masterpiece but are hidden from the limelight and in turn dejected. As the summer holidays are looming over us, I’d advise to take this time to read a few books and really lose yourself into an alternate reality. Sometimes that’s the exact antidote needed to cure a mere mortal of their materialistic problems and psychological nightmares.
A clear example can be found in Hardy’s The Voice. Utterly beautiful, the first stanza;
Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,Saying that now you are not as you wereWhen you had changed from the one who was all to me,But as at first, when our day was fair.
This poem tends to calm my mind whenever I come to stumble upon it.