If What We Worship Fail Us, Still

Polyphonic Prose Is A Kind Of Free Verse, Except That It Is Still Freer. Polyphonic Makes Full Use Of Cadence, Rime, Alliteration, Assonance.

All Recurring Joy Is Pain Refined.

Life Is A Stream On Which We Strew Petal By Petal The Flower Of Our Heart; The End Lost In Dream, They Float Past Our View, We Only Watch Their Glad, Early Start. Freighted With Hope, Crimsoned With Joy, We Scatter The Leaves Of Our Opening Rose; Their Widening Scope, Their Distant Employ, We Never Shall Know. And The Stream As It Flows Sweeps Them Away, Each One Is Gone Ever Beyond Into Infinite Ways. We Alone Stay While Years Hurry On, The Flower Fared Forth, Though Its Fragrance Still Stays.

Love Is A Game-yes? I Think It Is A Drowning.

Life Is A Stream On Which We Strew Petal By Petal The Flower Of Our Heart.