It Was Too Exactly As Imagined To

We All Write Poems; It Is Simply That Poets Are The Ones Who Write In Words.

We Talked For Hours. He Talked And I Listened. It Was Like Wind And Sunlight. It Blew All The Cobwebs Away.

One Degrades Oneself Sometimes In The Effort Not To Be Lonely.

Evolution Did Not Intend Trees To Grow Singly. Far More Than Ourselves They Are Social Creatures, And No More Natural As Isolated Specimens Than Man Is As A Marooned Sailor Or Hermit.

I Think We Are Just Insects, We Live A Bit And Then Die And That’s The Lot. There’s No Mercy In Things. There’s Not Even A Great Beyond. There’s Nothing.