A Bayonet's Contrition Is Nothing To The

Till I Loved I Never Lived.

That Short, Potential Stir That Each Can Make But Once, That Bustle So Illustrious Tis Almost Consequence, Is The Eclat Of Death.

To Be Alive Is Power; Existence In Itself; Without A Further Function; Omnipotence.

I Dwell In Possibilities... A Fairer House Than Prose.

Where Thou Art, That Is Home.