Love then was depthless bliss more real than life
The things one could never see burning deep
Through the ageless burdens and countless strife
Oh how we gave time to the weeping sleep
But love time is false and cruel delegating age
Birthing demons from the time we spent awake
Our minutes merits grow not like thyme, sage
But dies as the brutal rose life, sun take
Wild is not my spirit my words not love
Your eyes nothing but organs my hair dead
Do not romanticize me floating dove
We are not to grow love never to wed
But if life is my labor that I shan’t flea
Through life’s dirt and hate I want you and me
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"I dont hate it he thought, panting in the cold air, the iron New England dark: I dont. I dont! I dont hate it! I dont hate it!" - William Faulkner, Absalom, Absalom
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“Above all, we are coming to understand that the arts incarnate the creativity of a free people. When the creative impulse cannot flourish, when it cannot freely select its methods and objects, when it is deprived of spontaneity, then society severs”- JFK