Roses Can Grow In Slums Just As

Broken Vows Are Like Broken Mirrors. They Leave Those Who Held To Them Bleeding And Staring At Fractured Images Of Themselves.

. . .and Every Native Has A Story Of Winter – Stories That Usually Begin, You Call This A Storm? And Grow In The Telling Like Battle Tales Shared By Graying War Veterans. It’s A Peculiar Character Flaw To Those Of Us From Cold Climates That We Feel Superior To Those Who Have The Sense To Live Elsewhere.

When A Man Loses His Vision Of The Future He Dies.

Love Never Gives In Or Up, Holding Tight To Lofty Ideals That Transcend This Earth And Time, While Its Counterfeit Simply Concludes It Was Mistaken And Quickly Runs Off To Find The Next Real Thing.

Maybe, If We Just Accepted Our Deaths, We Might Finally Start To Live.