To Possess Is Past The Instant; We

Narcotics Cannot Still The Tooth. That Nibbles At The Soul

Remorse Is Cureless--the Disease Not Even God--can Heal-- For 'tis His Institution--and The Adequate Of Hell

Victory Comes Late-- And Is Held Low To Freezing Lips-- Too Rapt With Frost To Take It

I Dwell In Possiblities.

Expectation Is Contentment - Gain Satiety.