What was it Like?What was what like? he said, although he knew.Quick, I imagine. But you must have perceived something. A split second of vanishing awareness. A grasping at a shrinking light. It was l...
Poets, like the blind, can see in the dark.
Freud thought that a psychosis was a waking dream, and that poets were daydreamers too, but I wonder if the reverse is not as often true, and that madness is a fiction lived in like a rented house
funny how our heartswere designed to loveso fiercely.but break ever so gently.
Forget decorated generals, tell me about Private Ryan.
I bargained with Life for a penny,And Life would pay no more, However I begged at eveningWhen I counted my scanty store;For Life is just an employer,He gives you what you ask,But once you have set the...
You either a poet or a homosexual. Oh, shit, that's fucked up. Why can't I be both?
Poets sing our human music for us.
If you're an artist, always keep at it, there will be someone out there who sees the universe and soul in what you've created. Maybe they can't afford it, but it calls them like the siren in a sea, an...
For what is a poem but a hazardous attempt at self-understanding: it is the deepest part of autobiography.
i would rather havefeelings without wordsthan words without feelings.
Saints and martyrs had never interested Maggie so much as sages and poets.
I waited for the seasons of love to pass from this cold winter to the summer heat I dreamed of.
I write because there are things in me that cannot die.
Too often, feelings arrive too soon, waiting for thoughts that often come too late.
Artistes breathe and dream creativity!
I'd had a little feeling of destiny. Because, you see, what I mean about affinities is true from friendships down to even the accidental glance at someone on the street-there's always a definite reaso...
How strange and ironic it is- all the words i long to sayare lost in words.
Not words. nor laughter. but rather someonewho will fall in lovewith your silence.
Love is almost never simple.