This Is Now. Now Is, All There

A Craftsman Pulled A Reed From The Reedbed, Cut Holes In It, And Called It A Human Being. Since Then, It's Been Wailing A Tender Agony Of Parting, Never Mentioning The Skill That Gave It Life As A Flute

Why Should I Stay At The Bottom Of A Well, When A Strong Rope Is In My Hand?

Through Love All That Is Bitter Will Be Sweet, Through Love All That Is Copper Will Be Gold, Through Love All Dregs Will Become Wine, Through Love All Pain Will Turn To Medicine.

There Is A Voice That Doesn’t Use Words. Listen.

Love Is The Reality, And Poetry Is The Drum.