God is a cloud from which rain fell.
I wanted to write the most beautiful poem but that is impossible; the world has written its own.
It’s not easy to write a poem about a poem.
Even if you are alone you wage war with yourself.
Hope without love is hopeless.
There can be no forced inspiration.
We hear only our own voices, still echoes returning to our emptiness.
What we call life is only talk of nature.
A big desire is not enough to meet the expectations of lost dreams
It is easy to see the glow but hard to recognize the awakening of silence.
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