We measure everything by ourselves with almost a necessary conceit.
Two forces create eternity – a fairy tale and a dream from the fairy tale.
…she rebuked those about her
in darkness did she dwell
a pathetic history
all mortal man would tell..
We forget old stories, but those stories remain the same.
Just look what happens to poets,” I used to tell my honors class on the first day of school. “Half the time they go mad. And you know why I think that happens? Too much truth distilled to its essence, all surrounding evidence ignored or discarded. And I’m not faulting them for that.
and everyone wants to read the poem
we’re afraid to write.
I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.
God is a cloud from which rain fell.
Cities get built out of poet’s dreams.
Poetry contains few words but tells much. Its beauty is that by being condensed it is rich in meaning and open to various interpretations. Unlike prose, there is no boundary to poetry. There is nothing concrete or black and white. Poetry is mutable; it is transformative. Poetry is the alchemy of hearts. And what cannot be said in prose can sometimes be only said through poetry.