The Whisper Of The Blood And The

I Can't Even Make Up A Rhyme About An Umbrella, Let Alone Death And Life And Eternal Peace.

I Suffered No Pain, My Hunger Had Taken The Edge Off; Instead I Felt Pleasantly Empty, Untouched By Everything Around Me And Happy To Be Unseen By All. I Put My Legs Up On The Bench And Leaned Back, The Best Way To Feel The True Well-being Of Seclusion. There Wasn't A Cloud In My Mind, Nor Did I Feel Any Discomfort, And I Hadn't A Single Unfulfilled Desire Or Craving As Far As My Thought Could Reach. I Lay With Open Eyes In A State Of Utter Absence From Myself And Felt Deliciously Out Of It.

But What Really Matters Is Not What You Believe But The Faith And Conviction With Which You Believe.

In My Solitude, Many Miles From Men And Houses, I Am In A Childishly Happy And Carefree State Of Mind, Which You Are Incapable Of Understanding Unless Someone Explains It To You

Rather Than Admire The Mediocre Great Men Over Whom Passersby Nudge Each Other In Awe, I Venerate The Young, Unknown Geniuses Who Die In Their Teens, Their Souls Shattered - Delicate, Phosphorescent Glowworms That One Must See To Know They Really Did Exist.