Don't Be Sad, Don't Be Angry, If

I Want To Understand You, I Study Your Obscure Language.

The Less We Show Our Love To A Woman, Or Please Her Less, And Neglect Our Duty, The More We Trap And Ruin Her Surely, In The Flattering Toils Of Philandery.

There Yet Remains But One Concluding Tale, And Then This Chronicle Of Mine Is Ended - Fulfilled, The Duty God Ordained To Me, A Sinner. Not Without Purpose Did The Lord, Put Me To Witness Much For Many Years, And Educate Me In The Love Of Books. One Day Some Indefatigable Monk, Will Find My Conscientious, Unsigned Work; Like Me, He Will Light Up His Ikon-lamp, And, Shaking From The Scroll The Age-old Dust, He Will Transcribe These Tales In All Their Truth.

Somewhere Between Obsession And Compulsion Is Impulse.

Love Passed, The Muse Appeared, The Weather Of Mind Got Clarity New-found; Now Free, I Once More Weave Together Emotion, Thought, And Magic Sound.