Nation-building is never a 'done deal' confined to history already established.

A poet is a verb that blossoms light in gardens of dawn, or sometimes midnight.

Your pain is a school unto itself–– and your joy a lovely temple.

Hope drowned in shadows emerges fiercely splendid–– boldly angelic.

Whereas the insufficiency of a love neither sustained nor supreme cannot be ignored, the same should not be taken as cause to avoid one's total spiritual contractual engagement to this world.

Careful studies of cases dealing with supposed 'mental disorder' have at times revealed that many thought to be insane or warped in some fashion were actually simply highly sensitive individuals. What they suffered from was not mental debilitation, but personal and communal ignorance of psychic reality.

Love, Mercy, and Grace, sisters all, attend your wounds of silence and hope.