This winter, there will be no voices, no glimpses, no arms.only the fabric of poetry, to keep me warm.

some winterswill never meltsome summerswill never freezeand some things will only... live in poems.

...so i will greet youin a wayall loved thingsare meant to be greetedwith a tear in my heartand a poem in my eye.

there are some poemsthat we leave behindsome that leave us behindwhile some just livesilentlyin the heartcrumble, sometimesdwindledisappeardieand are rebornwhen you smile again.

it was the kind of moonthat I would want to send back to my ancestorsand gift to my descendantsso they know that I too, have been bruised...by beauty.

because some thingssometimesaren't ours to hold, but just beautiful to listen to.

i'm glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.

and the afterglow...of your gaze...is the onlysweater that I need.

there is some achingthat will only heal...in the mosque of sleep.

i want to stay curled and cosiedand chocolated....foreverin my mother’s arms.

leave me some musicthat’s chocolate for the heart.

To make a decision, all you need is authority. To make a good decision, you also need knowledge, experience, and insight.

I will love to be called a foolish man of peace, than to be named a wise man of war. Show me your weapons of war and I will show you my Bible of peace!

Sending everything they touch to the grave is what they do, but they don't see it as a grave mistake, yet.

The individual appears for an instant, joins the community of thought, modifies it and dies; but the species, that dies not, reaps the fruit of his ephemeral existence.

good call. A second drag and your next stop's the wastepaper basket - and not to toss your kleenex, true.

It is a very common failing, never to be pleased with our fortune nor displeased with our character.

Wherever flaxseeds become a regular food item among the people, there will be better health.

It does not undo harm to acknowledge that we have done it; but it undoes us not to acknowledge it.

Romance is the poetry of literature.

A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.