In Order To Write Poetry, You Must

And To Walk Through Life In Dreams Out Of Love For The Hand That Guides Us.

Avoid Pulpits, Platforms, Stages And Pedestals. Keep To The Hard Ground. It Is The Only Way You Can Judge Your Approximate Status As A Man.

Wanderer, Your Footsteps Are The Road, And Nothing More; Wanderer, There Is No Road, The Road Is Made By Walking. By Walking One Makes The Road, And Upon Glancing Behind One Sees The Path That Never Will Be Trod Again. Wanderer, There Is No Road-- Only Wakes Upon The Sea. Caminante, Son Tus Huellas El Camino, Y Nada Más; Caminante, No Hay Camino, Se Hace Camino Al Andar. Al Andar Se Hace Camino, Y Al Volver La Vista Atrás Se Ve La Senda Que Nunca Se Ha De Volver A Pisar. Caminante, No Hay Camino, Sino Estelas En La Mar.

My Soul Is Not Asleep. It Is Awake, Wide Awake. It Neither Sleeps Nor Dreams, But Watches, Its Eyes Wide Open Far-off Things, And Listens At The Shores Of The Great Silence.

Man Would Be "otherwise." That's The Essence Of The Specifically Human.