The Fool Who Persists In His Folly

Nature Has No Outline. Imagination Has.

Like A Fiend In A Cloud, With Howling Woe, After Night I Do Crowd, And With Night Will Go; I Turn My Back To The East, From Whence Comforts Have Increased; For Light Doth Seize My Brain With Frantic Pain.

Struggling In My Father's Hands, Striving Against My Swaddling Bands, Bound And Weary, I Thought Best To Sulk Upon My Mother's Breast.

Energy Is An Eternal Delight.

As The Caterpillar Chooses The Fairest Leaves To Lay Her Eggs On, So The Priest Lays His Curse On The Fairest Joys.