“As one door closes another opens some do say, but at times, when panic is born, all doors are blown asunder, hope driven all but fully under, and in the back of young, impressionable minds.”

“Walk me, foreign valleyHear us wail, know our call,Kill me, the troubled nomad, war torn and hungryQuell the sun and all its tyranny.Break the day, so to say and slay, the snow and all we know,Let come the horror we’ve been counting on.Be it the fault together, of our catalyst and our progeny.”

“The art of writing is not unlike the act of screaming. A constant flow of otherworldly emotions with tempos high and hymns low. All to amount to some purpose not so loudly spoken: the whisper of change the heart of a writer weeps to reap.”

“This being the final say, tomorrow is thought about.The what of tomorrow, the who? The maybe, the if.Should it never come, none, no one but those left would know, know it so.”

“And with a new name came the ultimate alleviation of some gross unspoken responsiblity.”

“May the might be in the light, the beyond of east or west.As the faith lies within a broken bayonet, an ending put best.”

“Love flies out the door when money comes innuendo.”