Until Only Infinity Remained Of Beauty

Life Is Beautiful. He Who Reads That As In The Window Of Some Distant, Speeding Train Knows What He Wants, And What Will Befall.

The Sun Fades Like The Spreading Of A Peacock's Tail, As Though Twilight Might Be Read As A Warning To Those Desperate For Easy Solutions.

How Funny Your Name Would Be If You Could Follow It Back To Where The First Person Thought Of Saying It, Naming Himself That, Or Maybe Some Other Persons Thought Of It And Named That Person. It Would Be Like Following A River To Its Source, Which Would Be Impossible. Rivers Have No Source.

Life Is Not At All What You Might Think It To Be A Simple Tale Where Each Thing Has Its History It's Much More Than Its Scuffle And Anything Goes Both Evil And Good, Subject To The Same Laws.

I Often Wonder If I Am Suffering From Some Mental Dysfunction Because Of How Weird And Baffling My Poetry Seems To So Many People And Sometimes To Me Too.