The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
Love begets love. This torment is my joy.
Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire
Any fool can take a bad line out of a poem; it takes a real pro to throw out a good line.
How body from spirit slowly does unwind, until we are pure spirit at the end.
The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.