Poets tend to talk too much, would-be poets more. Seems they've just forgotten what their ears are for. **** There are times when giving all one needs more yet to give, and if the search prove fruitless, it seems absurd to live. Yet oftentimes absurdity may be the price we pay, for finding joy in springtime and watching children play. **** My Spirit used to answer me when I was filled with questions. Now it only watches me and listens to suggestions. **** Driving through insanity was never more than fleeting Until I paused to say hello; responding to its greeting.
