Hope without love is hopeless.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
There can be no forced inspiration.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
Either all lights are turned off or one inner light is missing.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
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