The Heads Of Strong Old Age Are

O That Our Souls Could Scale A Height Like This, A Mighty Mountain Swept O'er By The Bleak Keen Winds Of Heaven; And, Standing On That Peak Above The Blinding Clouds Of Prejudice, Would We Could See All Truly As It Is; The Calm Eternal Truth Would Keep Us Meek.

Poetry Is Not A Civilizer, Rather The Reverse, For Great Poetry Appeals To The Most Primitive Instincts.

We Have To Live Like People In A Web Of Knives, We Mustn't Reach Out Our Hands Or We Get Them Gashed.

The Tides Are In Our Veins, We Still Mirror The Stars, Life Is Your Child, But There Is In Me Older And Harder Than Life And More Impartial, The Eye That Watched Before There Was An Ocean.

Happy People Die Whole, They Are All Dissolved In A Moment, They Have Had What They Wanted.