Well here's page one. There's something wrong with the poem I think iI heard it wrong, Falling asleep while I type since it's late so there may be a lot of typos. IF IT SUCKS LET ME KNOW AND I"LL TRY IT AGAIN Never done anything like this before. so it may hve to be rewritten a few times.

Shadowed angels from Hell’s fiery playground
Descends upon me devouring what light I see before me
All hope is lost, all I see is the dark before me
A war fought within me for my soul
For which I am losing with haste
Anger, bitterness and hate consumes me
Though in vain I fight this losing battle
For in darkness forever I shall roam…


Am I mad? That is what many though time have called me. “He’s a Booth and he’s mad like his father.” “Only a madman would kill President Lincoln!” But what is madness? Aren’t only geniuses mad? Poe, my father, Mozart just to name just a few. Madness I consider is when people with special gifts are driven with such passion for their art this teeter on the brink of sanity. For if that is the case then for argument sake than I am not mad. I was a actor and was competent but I was by no means a acting virtuoso. In time if I was to have continued I may have exceeded everyone’s expectations of me but alas my heart was no longer devoted to the arts.

Surely, if I am not mad then I must have be insane and was unaware of my actions? I was well aware of my actions and that I caused harm to a great many people, if not the entire nation. My action caused innocent people to be executed, a emotionally fragile woman to lose her husband by my hand thus causing her to lose her sanity. Not to mention the reconstruction period was hampered and made more difficult with Andrew Johnson as president who felt the South should be punished.

At that moment in time I really truly believed that the South was not lost and that destroying the Union Government would bring about a permanent Confederate state. I was assured by many people in Washington that if the Lincoln’s cabinet was annihilated pro-Southern Politicians would take control and work towards secession and helping the new Southern government get established. But this was not the case and I was nothing but a expendable pawn in a government chess game.

I don’t think a human alive or dead could know what I felt since Lincoln‘s death. I was not raised a killer. On the contrary I was taught from a young age to respect all living things. The hatred towards me though justified was hard to live with. Going from being admired and respected and in an instant being one, if not the most hated man in history destroys you emotionally and physically. I couldn’t fathom why people didn’t understand what I was trying to do. The people in the South hated as much as the North. I did it for the South and they turned on me with just as much or if not detestation than the North . It took a long time to see that I was manipulated and Lincoln wasn’t a evil tyrant. So many times I yearned to repeat that dreadful day. Though history has judged me as a madman. I beg to differ and will in the following pages tell my story and let the reader judge the man I am.

Wow!!
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