Being Alive Is A Common Road. It's

Poetry [is] More Necessary Than Ever As A Fire To Light Our Tongues.

Sometimes There’s No One To Listen To What You Really Might Like To Say At A Certain Moment. The Paper Always Listens.

For You Who Came So Far; For You Who Held Out, Wearing A Black Scarf To Signify Grief; For You Who Believe True Love Can Find You Amidst This Atlas Of Tears Linking One Town To Its Own Memory Of Mortar, When It Was Still A Dream To Be Built And People Moved There, Believing, And Someone With Sky And Birds In His Heart Said This Would Be A Good Place For A Park.

I Do Think That All Of Us Think In Poems.

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.