West Oak Lane 1018
May 13 1886
Lost Bird Ave. 2222
Dear Mrs. Dickenson, you are possibly my favorite poet, and author of our age. You seem to capture things how they are and never sees to amaze me with your effortless messages that you effortlessly bleed from your heart, into your hand, into your pen, onto the pager, and into my heart. Your writing style is one that I deeply enjoy. In your poem “A Word,” you write something short and simple. Yet it delivers a powerful thought provoking message that kept me awake for many nights as I thought about the words I so carelessly spoke, in this case, murdered, or gave life to.
In your poem you talk about how some people say that a word is dead when spoken. But you say a word just begins to live. I think depending on the word and the context it is used the word’s life span can vary. What I mean is if I were to say “I love cookies,” while petting a dog, the word love will only live for that brief moment that it is spoken, then it dies. But if I were to say “I love you,” while looking you in the eyes while watching the sunset, the word love will live on much longer than the previous use. For the meaning of it and context is now different and the meaning will live on and stay with you for much longer there for the word just began its life, and lived a full life.
What I have just said is me getting excited about simply one of your poems. But I have a feeling you are hoarding thousands of poems and stories behind the closed doors of your bedroom, and that only your death will allow the public eye to see them all. Now I must admit if it were up to me I would live in my room and not leave ever too. People are not quiet my fancy so I understand your decision making. But I do wonder what led to you not wanting to leave, were you hiding from something? You are a brilliant writer, but I believe your work suffers because if you were in the world you could get much more inspiration from life of the earth, but, it is not my place to judge. Your writing is still flawless to me and your view of death is quiet realistic. Now I do not wish to do everything that you do, I mean that in a humorous manner. I do not think parents would be very comfortable with a man lowering cookies down to children from his room. So I will leave the neighborhood baking to you Mrs. Dickenson.
West Hill Ave. 1321.
5 August 1845.
West Ave. H4 1861.
Dear Mr. Poe.
Author, poet, artist. You are a man of many talents that all revolve around writing. I am writing to you to explain my appreciation I have for your writings, and the concern I have for you as a man.
You are perhaps the author that I have grown to be most the found of. Your outlook on this world and the messages you have conveyed through your works of the pen have left me always wanting to read more. Your gothic style of writing I have found to become my favorite style of writing. Your writings of mystery and horror are where I find the most excitement when it comes to reading. I know this comes from most people in your life dying prematurely, causing your interest in the afterlife. But In each of your stories I have found you always find ways of delicately, methodically placing signs, meanings, and metaphors, into your works of literature in way that the readers will see it right away and need to be truly reading in order to see them.
The tales of mystery and horror that have been bled unto pages from a pen that has wielded by your vast intellect have taken me to places that only words ever could. But as I continue to read your literary works, which are brilliant, they unfortunately are still only about horror and mystery. The reason this arouses a feeling of concern in my mind and soul is that you seem to have a dark train of thought. I am not sure if this is due to your father leaving you, and your mother dying when you were three years old. Or when you gathered debt in school and you were forced to join the military because your foster father who was having affairs on his dying wife refused to help pay your debts. Or your fist love dying when you were fifteen years old .To have a train of thought of darkness is to have a darkness of the soul. To have darkness of the soul is to have lack of light and, the greatest light of them all is the light of Christ. Your writings have given me no inclination that you have a desire to. This concerns me because your sole may be accustomed to dark thoughts in life, but it will not be able to become accustomed the eternal darkness and flames or total damnation that you now face with your lack of faith. I would like to extend to you my prayers for you, in that you may find more joy in life, and the light and love of Christ. I want you to know that life is not all mystery and horror, but joy, love, friendship and time spent with God.
I hope this letter finds you in good health my friend. May you live a long life full of happiness for both you and your wife.
The poem “A Word” written by Emily Dickenson, is a short poem. But a poem that will make you stop and think. The poem makes me value words a little more, to think that every time I speak a word is dying makes me not want to kill meaningless words. But I do not believe a word is “dead” once spoken. I believe a word lives for that brief moment that it is spoken, and that it’s lasting life will come from how that paticulay word impacts the one who is hearing it. A word is used to translate enotions, and to impact another person. When words are used for a purpose, that, is when they live.