I am part of the load not rightly balanced . . .
Poems are rough notations for the music we are.
The wine of this fleeting world caused your head to ache.
The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.
You are not just the drop in the ocean. You are the mighty ocean in the drop.
We alchemists look for talent that can heat up and change. Lukewarm won't do. Halfhearted holding back, well-enough getting by? Not here.