Superstition Is The Poetry Of Life.

After All, Poets Shouldn't Be Their Own Interpreters And Shouldn't Carefully Dissect Their Poems Into Everyday Prose; That Would Mean The End Of Being Poets. Poets Send Their Creations Into The World, It Is Up To The Reader, The Aesthetician, And The Critic To Determine What They Wanted To Say With Their Creations.

Take Life Too Seriously, And What Is It Worth? If The Morning Wake Us To No New Joys, If The Evening Bring Us Not The Hopes Of New Pleasures, Is It Worth While To Dress And Undress? Does The Sun Shine On Me Today That I May Reflect On Yesterday? That I May Endeavor To Foresee And Control What Can Neither Be Foreseen Nor Controlled - The Destiny Of Tomorrow?

I Wait For The Morning Of My Tears

He Who Only Tastes His Error Will Long Dwell With It, Will Take Delight In It As In A Singular Felicity; While He Who Drains It To The Dregs Will, If He Be Not Crazy, Find It To Be What It Is.

Everything Is Simpler Than You Think And At The Same Time More Complex Than You Imagine