An Unromantic Poem I Mean

If I Cannot Be Myself In What I Write, Then The Whole Is Nothing But Lies And Humbug.

Your Home Is Regarded As A Model Home, Your Life As A Model Life. But All This Splendor, And You Along With It... It's Just As Though It Were Built Upon A Shifting Quagmire. A Moment May Come, A Word Can Be Spoken, And Both You And All This Splendor Will Collapse.

There Is Nothing So Enervating And Exhausting As This Hopeless Waiting. I Dare Say This Is Only A Transition Period. I Will And Shall Have A Victory Some Day. If The Powers That Be Have Shown Me So Little Favor As To Place Me In This World And Make Me What I Am, The Result Must Be Accordingly.

Each Bird Must Sing With His Own Throat.

This Is Life! It Can Harden And It Can Exalt!