Why Dispute What We Shall Be, When

Your Fear Of Death Is But The Trembling Of The Shepherd When He Stands Before The King Whose Hand Is To Be Laid Upon Him In Honour.

You Are Not Enclosed Within Your Bodies, Nor Confined To Houses Or Fields. That Which Is You Dwells Above The Mountain And Roves With The Wind.

Poetry Is A Deal Of Joy And Pain And Wonder, With A Dash Of The Dictionary.

The Truly Good Is He Who Is One With All Those Who Are Deemed Bad.

This For God And This For Myself; This For My Soul, And This Other For My Body?