it is a sad thing to finally feel how much of one's self is lost when a pen's frigate was left to oblivion. i never really kept a journal of my own to be so determined to purgate all that's inside my head. all i had are but scribblings on some sheets of paper, not even intending to make them last. nonetheless, i keep with me a beautiful poetry notebook. eternal words, i thought to myself... words truly kill us. and so words truly kill THE artist within us. they carry with them a passion that moves people and derides thinkers. they seem fleeting when spoken, but when they are written down, they become eternal. some sort of purpose comes through them. so, shall i let this spectacle fade away? never! "...so long as men could breathe and eyes could see, so long lives this and this gives life to thee." -Sonnet 118, W.Shakespeare
(written 15 October 2005 . pic source: http://www.u.arizona.edu/~mlbrown/431A.html)
