Faith is a question of eyesight; even the blind can see that.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
In the lie of truth lies the truth.
There can be no forced inspiration.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
Holy books are an insult to a God with good intentions.
Wherever there is somebody else, a war is not far away.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
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