We Only Serve As A

Poetry, Being Elegance Itself, Cannot Hope To Achieve Visibility... It Insists On Living Its Own Life.

One Is Either Judge Or Accused. The Judge Sits, The Accused Stands. Live On Your Feet.

It Is Not Inspiration; It Is Expiration.

I Want The Kind Of Readers Who Remain Children At Any Cost. I Can Tell Them At A Glance: Loyalty To That First Enchantment Guards Better Than Any Cosmetic; Than Any Diet, Against The Insults Of Age. But Alas For Such Readers, Who Would Huddle Safe And Sound In The Asylum Of Their Credulous Enchantment As If In The Womb-our Enervating Century Offends Them By Its Chaos, Its Fidgets Of Light And Space, The Host Of Its Excuses For Dividing , For Rending Oneself From Others And From Oneself.

Mystery Has Its Own Mysteries, And There Are Gods Above Gods. We Have Ours, They Have Theirs. That Is What's Known As Infinity.