Every Moment Must Be First Known And

God, Why Didn't You Make Us All Dogs?

I Loved Words. I Love To Sing Them And Speak Them And Even Now, I Must Admit, I Have Fallen Into The Joy Of Writing Them.

Perhaps I Fear Him Because I Could Love Him Again, And In Loving Him, I Would Come To Need Him, And In Needing Him, I Would Again Be His Faithful Pupil In All Things, Only To Discover That His Patience For Me Is No Substitute For The Passion Which Long Ago Blazed In His Eyes.

As They Die, The Ones We Love, We Lose Our Witnesses, Our Watchers, Those Who Know And Understand The Tiny Little Meaningless Patterns, Those Words Drawn In Water With A Stick. And There Is Nothing Left But The Endless Flow.

The World Changes, We Do Not, Therein Lies The Irony That Kills Us.