Will Our Life Not Be A Tunnel

I Was The Owner Of My Own Darkness.

Love, How Many Roads To Obtain A Kiss.

Poetry Is An Act Of Peace.

Who Hasn't Sharpened The Edge Of His Soul? When, Just As Our Eyes Are Opened, We See Hate, And Just After Learning To Walk, We Are Tripped, And Just For Wanting To Love, We Are Hated, And For No More Than Touching, We Are Hurt, Which Of Us Hasn't Started To Arm Himself, To Make Himself Sharp, Somehow, Like A Knife, To Pay Back The Hurt?

You Are Like Nobody Since I Love You.