Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

(Kennedy and Eisenhower at Camp David, 1961)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

---Robert Frost

That Thing With Feathers

"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me"

---Emily Dickinson

Enter

Leaving the mortal world behind, he steps through temple gates that open like the maw of a hungry God.

Garland Boy

Wedding flowers for the Sun-God served by children burnt by seeds of this earth.

City of Blinding Lights

"Neon heart, day-glow eyes, the city lit by fireflies. They're advertising in the skies for people like us. I've seen you walk unafraid. I've seen you in the clothes you've made. Can you see the beauty inside of me? What happened to the beauty inside of me?"---U2

Prometheus Unbound

"Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.But if it had to perish twice,I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice, Is also great, And would suffice."---Robert Frost

Unseen

The beggars of young squeezes the testicles of her bastard son to get a penny for your thoughts. Nobody sees her. The invisibles shame us all.

Atlas

He looks into me, as if to ask, "Why did you leave me here?" I could have been him if my ancestors did not choose to flee the land where the blood of the father mingled with his virgin bride.

Stairway to Heaven

Families sit on mortals steps celebrating the immortals, feasting upon the spoils of the Gods sold in fruit stalls. The incense is boiled into the skins of the worshippers that mingle with their blood-fueled sweat. I do not know why the Gods left them to be forgotten here among their only families. I only know that I have felt lonelier among the blood of my kin than when I am along the rock of ages.