I Am Never Going To Write For

When Angels Visit Earth, The Messengers Of God's Decree, They Come As Lightning, Wind: Before The Throne, They All Are Living Fire.

Naught Is Too Small And Soft To Turn And Sting.

There Is No Comfort Looking Forth Nor Back, The Present Gives The Lie To All Her Past.

Poetry Must Be Simple, Sensuous, Or Impassioned.

Life's Sharpest Rapture Is Surcease Of Pain.