Poetry Is What Milton Saw When He

Pity The Meek, For They Shall Inherit The Earth.

A Fierce Unrest Seethes At The Core, Of All Existing Things:, It Was The Eager Wish To Soar, That Gave The Gods Their Wings.

My Heart Hath Followed All My Days Something I Cannot Name.

Blood Will Tell, But Often It Tells Too Much.

Procrastination Is The Art Of Keeping Up With Yesterday.