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Since I have half a gift yet not a whole, I bring words to half life, but alas my complete soul. Who I am, not who I am supposed to be, on these wings of an eagle I take flight and become free. At dawn's break cascading on the horizon, is there enough light to see the day? It is this murky muddled mirage where I facilitate my way. Noble men and women seems from another universe, who have authored manuscripts of such grand eloquence, I wonder and marvel at such sui generis verse. I myself may never be there, but I can’t help to think these masters passions which they all must bear, are not too dissimilar to when I soar in the air.
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