It Seems That What I Really Want

There's A Place Beyond Words Where Experience First Occurs To Which I Always Want To Return. I Suspect That Whenever I Articulate My Thoughts Or Translate My Impulses Into Words, I Am Betraying The Real Thoughts And Impulses Which Remain Hidden.

Chance Was To Work In The Garden, Where He Would Care For Plants And Grasses And Trees Which Grew There Peacefully. He Would Be As One On Them: Quiet, Open Hearted In The Sunshine And Heavy When It Rained.

As I Go To Sleep I Remember What My Father Said-that One Can Never Be Sure If One Will Awake. The Way My Health Is Now, This Is Becoming More And More Real.

She Seemed To Belong To That Pagan, Primitive Kingdom Of Birds And Forests Where Everything Was Infinitely Abundant, Wild, Blooming, And Royal In Its Perpetual Decay, Death, And Rebirth; Illicit And Clashing With The Human World.

The Things I Write Are For Those Who Are Willing To Accept A New Relationship Between The Reader And The Author.