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To those who dwell on the hidden layers of the human mind, to those who dig deep within their subconscious to find themselves, and their creativity, and to those who discover something within their own dark labyrinth that comes unexpected and sometimes unwanted.
I speak of course to all of us, the poets, and all the psychological responsibility that is bestowed upon those who choose to record their lives on paper with a pen. We poets are unique, we covet imagination above all else, our emotions run free through us, sometimes with fierce intensity, and sometimes we search through the shadows of our souls, to unlock something as mundane as a particular word, or most often, an idea, the elusive abstraction that is the fundamental source of a poem.
An idea can open the flood gates to all areas of human thought, an over-abundance of individual material, life is full of potential, but what separates the poet from the bystander, is that we, the poets, read between the lines.
I will only record my worldviews, my thoughts, and the inner directory of my soul with you, ironically, I will share with you the most profound parts of myself.
But you will never know my surface, where I live, whom I love, and what I do with my life, or who is in my life. But I hope you enjoy what I have to say, and it is an honor to share with all of you.