FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not - and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified - have tortured - have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little...

as anda read Mr.Edgar Allen Poe's puisi that he wrote, anda feel this vain young-man searching for away to break free from the tradgies that he faced as a child and in his early teens, and later on in life, but the poem that i just read called: Dreams" really sums up i think what he
was truly feeling there is a komen below the poem that i read that i think is very well put and this
is what it says: " The life of human beings, relates to something called dreams that considered as a prediction. We build our life upon it. we should have dreams with which our life become so sweet and nice
    And...