All Our Words Are But Crumbs That

Trees Are Poems The Earth Writes Upon The Sky, We Fell Them Down And Turn Them Into Paper, That We May Record Our Emptiness.

When We Oppose The Hidden Conscience, It Does Us Hurt. When We Betray It, It Judges Us.

In The Depth Of My Soul There Is A Wordless Song.

Love Prides Itself Not Only In The One Who Loves, But Also In The Beloved.

In The Depth Of My Soul There Is A Wordless Song - A Song That Lives In The Seed Of My Heart. It Refuses To Melt With Ink On Parchment; It Engulfs My Affection In A Transparent Cloak And Flows, But Not Upon My Lips.