Poems like to have a destination for their flight. They are homing pigeons.
The only way through pain…is to absorb, probe, understand exactly what it is and what it means. To close the door on pain is to miss the chance for growth.
It is sometimes the most fragile things that have the power to endure and become sources of strength.
How slowly one comes to understand anything!
It is curious how any making of order makes one feel mentally ordered, ordered inside.
It is possible, I suppose, that we are returning to a Dark Age. What is frightening is that violence is not only represented by nations, but everywhere walks among us freely.