We Owe Thankfulness To God, Not Sour

Poems Reach Up Like Spindrift And The Edge Of Driftwood Along The Beach, Wanting! They Derive From A Slow And Powerful Root That We Can’t See. Stop The Words Now. Open The Window In The Center Of Your Chest, And Let The Spirits Fly In And Out.

Feel The Delight Of Walking In The Noisy Street And Being The Noise.

There Is A Candle In Your Heart, Ready To Be Kindled.

When A Man Makes Up A Story For His Child, He Becomes A Father And A Child Together, Listening.

You Have No Need To Travel Anywhere - Journey Within Yourself. Enter A Mine Of Rubies And Bathe In The Splendor Of Your Own Light.