Tell Your Secret To The Wind, But

The Truly Just Is He Who Feels Half Guilty Of Your Misdeeds.

For The Criminal Who Is Weak And Poor The Narrow Cell Of Death Awaits; But Honor And Glory Await The Rich Who Conceal Their Crimes Behind Their Gold And Silver And Inherited Glory.

And That Which Sings And Contemplates In You Is Still Dwelling Within The Bounds Of That First Moment Which Scattered The Stars Into Space.

For What Is Prayer But The Expansion Of Your Self Into The Living Ether?

Thinking Is Always The Stumbling Stone To Poetry.