To create art with all the passion in one's soul is to live art with all the beauty in one's heart.

A horn of plenty spills from your hands into the starved lives of millions.

And now we step to the rhythm of miracles. --from The Light, That Never Dies

Millions cheer the warriorspilling blood across the ringwhile the one who stands for peaceis ridiculed and shamed.Must hearts forever sufferfrom ignorance and greed?Can bombs heal our soulsor set our spirits free?

Compassion crowns the soul with its truest victory.

The birth of a true poet is neither an insignificant event nor an easy delivery. Complications generally begin long before the fated soul carries its dubious light into whatever womb has been kind enough to volunteer the intricate machinery of its blood and prayers and muscles for a gestation period much longer than nine months or even nine years.

You are the hybrids of golden worlds and ages splendidly conceived.