In your hands winter is a book with cloud pages that snow pearls of love.
What is this slow blue dream of living, and this fevered death by dreaming?
A world without poetry and art would be too much like one without birds or flowers: bearable but a lot less enjoyable.
Poetry and art nourish the soul of the world with the flavor-filled substances of beauty, wisdom and truth.
Each star is a mirror reflecting the truth inside you.
Many people can rightfully claim, as much as anyone can rightfully claim anything, that much of their lives have been spent stumbling through a cloud of cluelessness.