This fire that we call Loving is too strong for human minds. But just right for human souls.
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The reality of a serious writer is a reality of many voices, some of them belonging to the writer, some of them belonging to the world of readers at l...
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A poet is a verb that blossoms light in gardens of dawn, or sometimes midnight.
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What hell condemned, let heaven now heal.
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When a reader enters the pages of a book of poetry, he or she enters a world where dreams transform the past into knowledge made applicable to the pre...
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This world’s anguish is no different from the love we insist on holding back.
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And now we step to the rhythm of miracles.--from The Light, That Never Dies
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The words ‘I Love You’ kill, and resurrect millions, in less than a second.
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History is a hermaphrodite with many distinguished lovers. We are neither mysteries nor strangers but the living breath of revelation made flesh by th...
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Beneath the armor of skin/and/bone/and/mindmost of our colors are amazingly the same.
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In a rich moonlit garden, flowers open beneath the eyes of entire nations terrified to acknowledge the simplicity of the beauty of peace.
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Time (again, Time) like the soul, wears many faces, many bodies and climates and attitudes. The past is one face, the present a second and the future ...
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How many fears came between us?Earthquakes, diseases, wars where hellrained smoldering pus from skies made of winged death.Horror tore this world asun...
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Knowledge planted in truth grows in truth.Strength born of peace loses nothing to hate.
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Dreams dress us carefully in the colors of power and faith.
