On The Day The World Ends A

Consolation Calm Down. Both Your Sins And Your Good Deeds Will Be Lost In Oblivion.

Human Material Seems To Have One Major Defect: It Does Not Like To Be Considered Merely As Human Material. It Finds It Hard To Endure The Feeling That It Must Resign Itself To Passive Acceptance Of Changes Introduced From Above.

I Am Composed Of Contradictions, Which Is Why Poetry Is A Better Form For Me Than Philosophy

Even If That Is So, There Will Remain A Word Wakened By Lips That Perish, A Tireless Messenger Who Runs And Runs Through Interstellar Fields, Through The Revolving Galaxies, And Calls Out, Protests, Screams.

What Is Poetry Which Does Not Save Nations Or People?