Life, Unlike The Inanimate, Will

Primitives Of Our Own Species, Even Today Are Historically Shallow In Their Knowledge Of The Past. Only The Poet Who Writes Speaks His Message Across The Millennia To Other Hearts.

Every Time We Walk Along A Beach Some Ancient Urge Disturbs Us So That We Find Ourselves Shedding Shoes And Garments Or Scavenging Among Seaweed And Whitened Timbers Like The Homesick Refugees Of A Long War.

I Was A Shadow Among Shadows Brooding Over The Fate Of Other Shadows That I Alone Strove To Summon Up Out Of The All-pervading Dusk.

When The Human Mind Exists In The Light Of Reason And No More Than Reason, We May Say With Absolute Certainty That Man And All That Made Him Will Be In That Instant Gone.

Though Men In The Mass Forget The Origins Of Their Need, They Still Bring Wolfhounds Into City Apartments, Where Dog And Man Both Sit Brooding In Wistful Discomfort. The Magic That Gleams An Instant Between Argos And Odysseus Is Both The Recognition Of Diversity And The Need For Affection Across The Illusions Of Form. It Is Nature's Cry To Homeless, Far-wandering, Insatiable Man: "do Not Forget Your Brethren, Nor The Green Wood From Which You Sprang. To Do So Is To Invite Disaster.