I remember opening up my eyes unwillingly after being disturbed from a peaceful sleep. I looked over to the digital alarm clock set on my table on the right side of the bed. It was 1:18 a.m. on a Saturday night. I was awoken by a deep, resonating, humming noise that seemed very unusual. After watching The Shining before going to bed, I did not want to walk out of my bedroom door to find out what was going on, but the curiosity got to me. I pulled the blanket off of myself, being exposed to the cold, breezing air surrounding my room. Hesitant to open the door, I twisted the knob and slowly opened it, trying not to awaken my parents with the creaking sound coming from the hinges. I turned my head left and right, hoping Jack Nicholson wasn’t there
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As it started to get up, I stood in awe and dismay. The creature was tall and thin, and had green-scaled skin. Stretchable arms, razor sharp fangs, and long, dark, blue hypnotizing eyes. The creature oddly resembled some similar features of a human being, but its unusually huge, bald egg-shaped head that was unproportioned to the body said otherwise. I was in shock, I have never seen something like this before. This is what you’d only see in fictional movies. My legs were trembling and it was hard to speak. The green subject looked at me deeply with its glowing and shady eyes, as if it was trying to read me or sink itself into my soul. Building up the courage to say the words, I opened my mouth and stuttered, “W-who a-are you? And w-what do you want?” The creature lit up, and had a creepy smirk on its face. “Well don’t you know?” it said with a slithering, slippery voice. “You humans refer to us as aliens, that’s who I am. I come from a place where your species don’t belong; it is simply a place for aliens like me to sustain a living. I was sent down here for an important mission. I mean no harm, I’m just here to complete my task. What’s my task you may ask? Well, I need to find out what poetry is, and that’s my question to you, fellow human being. What is …show more content…
I felt confused, perplexed, and concerned. Several questions came to mind after hearing what the alien had said and I needed answers, but I just asked the one. “P-poetry, you say?” I tell the alien. “Why is it your mission to find out the true meaning of poetry?” The alien was unamused and impatient. “My human friend, it is not your concern to know the details of my mission. I must leave planet earth soon before my mission will be marked as failed, so will you tell me now, what poetry is?” I wasn’t satisfied with the answer I received, but there was clearly no time for asking questions. Trying to collect my thoughts, I told the alien, “Um, poetry, okay. Well, poetry is an art. Poetry is the engraved marble of language, almost like God’s way of language. Poetry is a form in which humans use for the aesthetic assets it possesses and the theoretical and creative content it holds. The writing form contains large amounts of either oral or literary works in which semantics are used in a way that helps connect the emotions felt by the user to the author. Poetry is evocative. It triggers the reader to feel an intense sensation, ranging from joy to sorrow, and anger to love. Poetry also contains visuals, allowing our imaginations to be stirred by the poem’s layout or visual appearance. Poetry is created from deep within the soul. It feeds off of your emotions and compresses out every bit of originality from your subtle mind. Poetry cannot be summed up or
As it started to get up, I stood in awe and dismay. The creature was tall and thin, and had green-scaled skin. Stretchable arms, razor sharp fangs, and long, dark, blue hypnotizing eyes. The creature oddly resembled some similar features of a human being, but its unusually huge, bald egg-shaped head that was unproportioned to the body said otherwise. I was in shock, I have never seen something like this before. This is what you’d only see in fictional movies. My legs were trembling and it was hard to speak. The green subject looked at me deeply with its glowing and shady eyes, as if it was trying to read me or sink itself into my soul. Building up the courage to say the words, I opened my mouth and stuttered, “W-who a-are you? And w-what do you want?” The creature lit up, and had a creepy smirk on its face. “Well don’t you know?” it said with a slithering, slippery voice. “You humans refer to us as aliens, that’s who I am. I come from a place where your species don’t belong; it is simply a place for aliens like me to sustain a living. I was sent down here for an important mission. I mean no harm, I’m just here to complete my task. What’s my task you may ask? Well, I need to find out what poetry is, and that’s my question to you, fellow human being. What is …show more content…
I felt confused, perplexed, and concerned. Several questions came to mind after hearing what the alien had said and I needed answers, but I just asked the one. “P-poetry, you say?” I tell the alien. “Why is it your mission to find out the true meaning of poetry?” The alien was unamused and impatient. “My human friend, it is not your concern to know the details of my mission. I must leave planet earth soon before my mission will be marked as failed, so will you tell me now, what poetry is?” I wasn’t satisfied with the answer I received, but there was clearly no time for asking questions. Trying to collect my thoughts, I told the alien, “Um, poetry, okay. Well, poetry is an art. Poetry is the engraved marble of language, almost like God’s way of language. Poetry is a form in which humans use for the aesthetic assets it possesses and the theoretical and creative content it holds. The writing form contains large amounts of either oral or literary works in which semantics are used in a way that helps connect the emotions felt by the user to the author. Poetry is evocative. It triggers the reader to feel an intense sensation, ranging from joy to sorrow, and anger to love. Poetry also contains visuals, allowing our imaginations to be stirred by the poem’s layout or visual appearance. Poetry is created from deep within the soul. It feeds off of your emotions and compresses out every bit of originality from your subtle mind. Poetry cannot be summed up or