Fun House Mirrors...

Fun House Mirrors...

I watch the twists and turns of light,
Like a Fresnel lens of insanity,
A beacon of changing tune,
A hurricane-driven weathervane,
An egoic Super Moon of willful ignorance.

Day-by-day we must wonder and fret,
Twisted upon an impaling spike,
Awaiting a hail of stones,
Yet hoping for the kindness of a shovel and bath towels,
Receiving a schizophrenic cyclone.

We've eaten more trail dust and grime than an ancient cowboy,
Run over by our own cattle,
No real awareness of the deed,
Oblivious to the utterly warped light,
Of these fun house mirrors in every room we inhabit.

E. R. Murrow is spinning hard enough to burst into flames,
Mirroring our sad excuse for truths and portents.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/16/2016

Murdering Home:

Post by AquarianM on Feb 8, 2004 at 11:43am

Murdering Home:

Those of you in big cities might not know,
The little places I used to go,
Sadly you see I'm from a small Midwestern town,
The river runs past it flowing down.

Where I was born - could've sworn, I'd never see such dark days.

Every day another small business closed,
Another family with no place to go,
Another house payment blown,
Another farm that has flown.

Into the corporate sea, slaves to make of you and me.

I heard of a 250 million dollar man,
Quit the job and off he ran,
But the company had to pay,
Bankrupt near two years to the day.

Put the contract down - before your soul drowns.

Send all the cheap TV's,
Right on back overseas,
Where the coolies eat their peanuts miserably,
Even worse off than you and me.

It should have been us pulling them up.

There's a ray of light in the dirty brown sky,
A man who's worked like you and I,
Wants to do what's kind,
And will let everyone live their life.

I'll even give my birthday - to have it Dennis's way.

Look back to where you came from,
Is it dried up and almost gone,
Just broken empty shacks,
That the corporations bull-dozed in the new outback?

They're trying to murder home - but we don't have to let it go.

Where I was born - could've sworn, I'd never see such dark days.
Into the corporate sea, slaves to make of you and me.
Put the contract down - before your soul drowns.
It should have been us pulling them up.
I'll even give my birthday - to have it Dennis's way.
They're trying to murder home - but we don't have to let it go.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/08/2004

Author's Comments:
Today is my birthday - I'm going to go spend it helping Dennis Kucinich's campaign - and fighting NAFTA & the WTO. www.kucinich.com
Take a look, a hard look at all those small towns out there - while you still can, before you forget before the sardine cans.

One Step Over The Rainbow:

Post by AquarianM on Feb 8, 2004 at 3:06am

One Step Over The Rainbow:

They said I'd left the world,
Walked over the rainbow like a ghost,
Senselessly squandering my mind,
All to fade into some passing dream.

I am here, I am hearty and hale.

They were fearful of the rainbow,
Believing it would not hold their weight,
I believe and so I dance upon the sky,
Laughing and inviting.

We are here, we are dancing upon belief.

I point out in serenity,
The steps of this journey,
I gift their names with inclusion,
To walk into the valley of verdant green.

I shall never regret taking one step over the rainbow.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 02/08/2004

Author's Comments:
On supporting Dennis Kucinich. Seek and you will find belief in the possible.
www.kucinich.us

Touch ‘n Go:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 14, 2003 at 1:10am

Touch ‘n Go:

.... I like the idea, and being much a loner in life...

Willing to witness but never relate
I stand at a distance
Seeking something to force me
Closer to the scene
To a vantage point from
Which only I can view.

....So happy that you want to do this. I was not so much the loner growing up but an Air Force brat that was always slightly detached from wherever I was. Seems like we can relate.

Standing behind this force,
Some invisible shell,
Like a circle of loneliness,
Each time I break through,
A stream of words escape me,
Screaming like a tree fallen in the forest,
Willy-nilly compass of the heart,
Wandering in a leaning circle of blue,
Which trail leads home?

....Moving around every couple of years as an Air Force brat (no comments from the peanut gallery, please) made it difficult to have a sense of belonging. I always felt like an outsider looking in.

Round paths with nothing inside
Just glimpses of the center and
Reaching through this ache to
Find bread crumb clues that may
Be what's needed to get to the
Soul of it all.

....I was about as close to being an Air Force brat as you can get without actually being one, and then for about three years you could argue I was. We moved constantly as kids, no real time to put down roots, always wandering, nothing resembling stability except my grandparents, and no wonder the detachment. You always lost anyone you got too close to living like that - even my grandparents died, my Grandmother when we moved away because Mom's husband was stationed elsewhere, my Grandfather when I myself entered boot camp at Lackland AFB. Everyone else just kind of...faded away.

Wandering through fields of waving grasses,
Nothing in view but their golden height,
The rustle like a million whispers,
Nothing I can really make out but I try,
The meaning of it all beats down on me like sunshine,
Hot and urgent and endless,
Bright as it is I only understand it's there,
Sometimes whispering back at the grasses,
Shocked when I hear a true and honest cry,
The birds lift up en mass,
Thundering wings alluding to my danger,
I freeze in place to catch the scent.

....Always on a different wavelength, new places, new faces, none of the local routines. Always the new kid on the block and gone by the time I got to know you, and then along comes the ol' black magic - love, and they're still dragging us away. I wonder if there's skid marks from the dug in heels?

Wade deeper discover
Pathways hidden chances
Around each corner.
Are your eyes openly
Aware of what surrounds
Secrets lost in feverish joy?

....the letters sometimes kept coming for awhile. The phone was just too much for a single parent to say ok, and then it would come, "dear John dear Jane" how we knew the fires before we found the heat and figured it was better just to turn backs on the flames, maybe read a good book and get lost between the pages.

The discoveries of the heart so fresh and new,
Like the morning dew upon the leaf,
Beautiful and shining and transient,
Or the fall bird singing on the wire,
Only to loft and fly away to warmth,
Just a taste of what could be,
Every time feet are set the Earth moved,
Or was it just my backwards dream?

© Katie Shields/Dan Stafford
09/11/03

By: Katie Shields/Daniel A. Stafford
Author's Comments

A combination of poetry and personal notes from two migrant children...

Ink Blots...

Post by AquarianM on Sep 14, 2003 at 11:20pm

Ink Blots...

 

For some reason tonight,
I've tried to pry a secret from under the coner bricks,
Of the universe,
Something I've once in a poem been successful at,
Or so I think some nights,
But tonight the well has run dry,
The quill captured by a soulless empty breeze,
So all I could come up with,
Were a few ink blots and a scrawled "Hello friends."

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2003

Author's Comments:
It's just gotten too late and all I'm doing is
yawning. Thinking of you all.

Just A Lost Yellow Brick:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 16, 2003 at 1:26pm

Just A Lost Yellow Brick:

 

Hey, it's not OZ but it's close,
Someplace that only exists in your mind,
They had stock in trade in high volume,
Once upon a time,
And ghosts falling from the windows,
Repetition shadows in the mind,
Sad place old place lost place,
They pulled the stone bulls and roosters down,
Carted them off like trophies,
Just a big gone hole in the ground,
Twenty stories of old Chicago,
Or was it millions I forget,
Anyway there's just broken Earth now,
Caterpillar tracks and busted old bricks,
The ball swung hard and thundered the world,
And the ghosts were chased screaming,
Or maybe they're stuck in the old bricks,
I took one home and set it aside,
1808 in big worn carved letters,
Just a standard size yellow brick,
Obviously made of yellow Illinois clay,
Yeah I own a piece of the old Chicago Merc' today,
But if I forget what it was,
Someday remind me,
Just a lost yellow brick,
But if it had a soul calling it home,
I'd guess it would weep,
Maybe for what was so grand once,
Or maybe because it has a home again,
Or maybe just because someone took a few moments,
And as poets strangely may do,
Remembered it for us all,
And maybe that piece might set the old soul free.

AquarianM

Author's Comments:
300 West Washington is flat dirt now,
and really it's a shame. www.skyscrapers.com/re/en/wm/bu/117342/

The Dearth Pumpkin Chronicles...

The Dearth Pumpkin Chronicles...

The galaxy isn't ready for this empire of evil,

Yet the dark side of the Farce is upon us,

In a cackle of orange mental static,

All the birds are berned,

All the children huddled.

The Alliance is hiding on an asteroid,

Radio silence,

A few lost Hilbot droids forgot the orders,

Ran into the desert trying to fire blasters,

Shot down again.

Bernie Wan is off in the snowy place,

Making plans and gathering the generals,

Watching out for spy drones,

Still dreaming of the future,

Despite a terrible blow from the Hilla The Hut.

Dearth Pumpkin has seized the reins,

Is simply waiting for Barry Obafet to leave the seat of darkness,

That place where the hum of the dark side never ceases,

There where the storm troopers dance on puppet strings,

Where droid drones are sent to electronic death.

There has been a great disturbance in the Farce,

The future looks bleak,

Princess Tulsi is even quiet for now,

But the prophecy says that all things will end,

In the dance of dark and light.

Help us Bernie Wan,

You're our only hope!


​

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 11/11/2016

Off Our Butts And Out Where It's Pretty:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 19, 2003 at 12:30am

Off Our Butts And Out Where It's Pretty:

 

Time to get up and go,
This weather is so fine it can't last,
Sunshine eighties at a Fall sunlight angle,
September's closing slowly fast,
The greenery is still green,
The Monarchs are fluttering over the yellow flowers,
Their little yellow-white cousins air-bumping cattail stalks,
Milkweed pods just getting hints of brown and gold,
My t-shirt is caught in the breeze and it feels great,
Stretching our legs my love,
Even with the snappin' cracklin' lines above,
Even with the paved walking path,
The hawk sits on the tower over the garden,
Watching, watching us with steady eyes,
The sky is blue and the redwing blackbirds are flocking clouds,
Alive and twisting in the sky like a living thing,
The dragonflies are rare but here racing by,
The teenagers are walking the paths laughing,
The little kids swinging on park swings,
No couch can hold us,
Nor even the soft old bed,
The wind and trees and sunlight are calling our names,
Let's stroll where the wildflowers are growing,
Let's call the blue sky our Heaven,
Let's hug Summer while she's still home,
Let's get off our butts and out where it's pretty,
Become the new Americans and see the real world.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/19/2003

Author's Comments:
This was the day before yesterday in a nutshell.

Ten Polished Moonstones:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 16, 2003 at 1:23pm

Ten Polished Moonstones:

 

I closed my eyes,
Saw black shiny spheres,
Saw whirling colors,
Saw oil slick rainbows,
Black glass eyes in the middle of the dark,
The jade princess was drawing,
Alone in a garden,
Some sacred thing,
All calligraphy in henna shades,
Encircled by these stones,
Ten black Moonstones,
And from each a moonbeam sprang,
Ghostly pale amber,
Like ladders to the sky,
And I looked up,
Into the light years' distance,
I saw a kingdom of many colors,
Everyone dressed in strange robes,
The princess was crying crystal tears,
That tinkled like bells as they fell,
With a raptured smile on her face,
Painting and painting slow steady and sure,
Delicate strokes like flower petals in a puddle,
Spinning all these hidden dreams,
But you couldn't see past the moonbeams,
And down from the sky,
A crazy old man with skin of coal,
Crazy like a fox I guessed,
Because he held the crown,
I bowed in respect,
To the father of Dreams,
And suddenly forty red princes appeared,
Laughing in their feathers and skins,
They called the Earth child and Mother,
Caring for her with deep joy and light souls,
And I danced with my brothers,
They gave me a gift,
Telling me I was Mother's lost child,
A beautiful winged lady,
Transparent like a ghost,
And an amazing glass pen,
When you looked into it,
You could see everything,
As though through fuzzy glass,
And you could hear the whispers,
Thundering from the Lady's wings,
And thus my family muse came to my side,
And mother Earth called me home,
I fell down between ten polished Moonstones,
The pen was my hand,
And landed in a pillow dream of words,
To wander all my days,
Seeing a different light,
Hearing a different voice,
Some called the voice Poetry,
I still think it's just touches of life,
Light,
Life,
Touch,
Whisper,
Whisper true,
Heart to me to you.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/16/2003

Author's Comments:
Don't mind the wrapper, see the light.

Return My Colors:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 19, 2003 at 3:53pm

Return My Colors:

I saw them waving in the breeze,
Those threads and dyes of freedom,
Pursuit of life, of liberty, of happiness,
Red of courage,
White of purity,
Blue of truth,
They stand for freedom,
They do not belong,
Upon the collars of intolerance,
Upon the poles where heads hang,
In the circle of a lake of tears,
In the halls where our lives are pried open,
Like a clamshell overfed on statute pages.

I want my colors back.

I want those colors to bring tears,
Because they mean a home where one is soveriegn,
Upon the lands we've worked to earn,
Where spies are some dark shadows across oceans,
Or figments in story books,
And no one is disappeared without a trace,
Just upon the say-so of fear's hounds.

I want my colors back,
To wear with pride,
Because they represent a place of good hearts,
And live as you are.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 08/28/2003

Author's Comments:
Our rights and liberties are critical to the
character and identity of this country. There is no place on
Earth like this place was just two and a half years ago.
I want that place back, and the colors that go with it.

Post by AquarianM on Sep 19, 2003 at 2:14am

Salvation's Rust:

They put the baby in the field,
Cold and quiet-like,
Dust howls by,
The sands grind our teeth,
Only the bones fall slowly,
Time over the river now gone,
Somewhere beyond Eden,
Iron horses and hawks fallen,
Tears on our letters,
The pen at our worried necks,
Give us the quiet lanterns,
Crying behind flapping cotton,
Gifted ink and no lies whispered,
Give us the voices of home,
Send away the cold angry angels,
Give us dear loving friends,
And not some dust deviled sphinx riddle,
Born to hide the shame.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/19/2003

Author's Comments:
Why are we really there? (Iraq)

Clouds of Season:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2003 at 7:17am

Clouds of Season:

The sky is a patchwork quilt,
Clouds of grey, white, amber,
Bits of broken evening blue,
The sun will soon fall,
The geese and blackbirds,
Honking chirping secrets,
All the gypsy spirits in the sky,
Flowers lie before the pumpkins,
Tomato jesters still charging,
Soybean and cornstalk soldiers slowly turn to gold,
Seagulls engineer reality,
Passing a small pond,
Heron and hawk royalty,
Just give a quiet noble eye,
Soon the last cigar is ash and smoke,
Carried off in a cooling breeze,
Life is drawing inward,
Pulled, whirlpooled,
By voracious falling leaves.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/24/2003

Author's Comments:
I feel fall in my bones.

Outta The Box:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 25, 2003 at 7:05am

Outta The Box:

Don't look over,
Your left shoulder,
When you throw the salt,
Thinkin' by luck,
Your style will always be in,
Tell me what to wear,
To fit in your tribe,
I just can't wade in my vision,
Too far off the edge,
Of your little map,
Made of bits of cloth,
Seven rays of sunshine,
I'm the odd one in the middle,
Just on your advice,
But yesterday I walked my own star road,
And my,
Weren't you,
Strange.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/15/2003

Author's Comments:
Some of the silly stuff people think just because I like to
wear a bandanna in the summer. It reminds me of my youth,
it's fun and attention getting, but it's just a piece of cloth that
keeps the sweat ot of my eyes when I work around all the
phone equipment because it usually is eighty five degrees at work
in the summer.

Grace Hides In Out-Of-The-Way Places...

Grace Hides In Out-Of-The-Way Places...

Is innocence such a dim memory,
Only to be found in flowery script,
Some battered parchment in a long-conquered fortress?

Would Sir Lancelot recognize sweet Guinevere,
Were she cloaked in a business suit,
Creating the fortune of nations?

Time has wound us tight,
Busy with the bother,
Slaves to information overload.

I long for typewriters and quills,
The feel of paper in my hands,
The quiet that falls with darkness that knows only stars and candlelight.

Civility and service are too complex for this age,
They are ghosts that haunt my dreams,
A song my grandparents would sing were they alive.

Perhaps Time is the name of a dragon,
One that slays us without exception or fail.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/04/2016

Post by AquarianM on Oct 19, 2003 at 1:29am

Searching For Cygnus:

 

Cold Red Mars receding,
Brilliant and alone,
For the moment ruling,
This land where the shadows won,
Peaceful in the darkness,
The stars, too, set in the West,
Up above the swan flies,
Hunter Orion always follows,
While princess Casseopia cries,
Jet lights way high flashing,
Crossing the Northern Cross,
Do they see my garage light go out?

Chill breezes,
Zippo-lit cigar,
Familiar click and scrape,
Rustling grass in the dark,
In the silence of the dark night,
I pull my jacket about me,
Trying to fit an October Universe,
Smoothly between the lines of a poem,
Sitting in this chair with coffee hot in one hand,
Every sound in town heightened,
Searching for Cygnus like a feast for my eyes,
As one more tobacco smoke ghost,
Coils silently around the corner,
And vanishes into the starry night.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/19/2003

Author's Comments:
Never lose your sense of wonder,
best savored at a deliciously slow pace.

Simple Brass:

Post by AquarianM on Oct 21, 2003 at 5:59am

Simple Brass:

The feel of it smooth in my hands,
The taste of reed in my mouth,
Some piece of life I abandoned far too long,
Battered and old,
Touches of green on gold I'll spend days,
Stressing to find the natural flow,
Remembering infancy and desperation to speak,
It's right as rain and hard as hell,
Wavering cracking squeaking,
Like a teenager trying to sing,
But none of that matters,
Not if I can strike a true note at will,
Someday I'll have different words,
The kind that don't push pictures,
But will break your heart and leave you loving it,
Simple brass but it gleams in spots,
One more bit of polish,
In every hard-earned breath.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 10/16/2003

Author's Comments:
A touch on picking back up a saxophone after
29 years.

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

The Goat Is Dead!

The Goat Is Dead!

I missed the night of Hailey's Comet,

Cloudy skies,

Was working instead.

I was asleep,

Last time the Eagles played,

No time off I was home in bed.

I've never seen,

The Pyramids of Egypt,

No trail to that ancient dusty land.

Never saw,

The space shuttle landing,

Not a single rocket take off.

But I was there,

Yes I was watching,

The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

The last time,

They couldn't announce it,

radio hadn't been invented yet.

Six-to-six,

In game seven,

Bottom of the ninth it went to ten.

Got rained out,

The tarp was over the field,

It dried up and on they played.

I was there,
Yes I was watching,
The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

2016,

The Cubs won the Series,

First time since 1908.

I missed the night of Hailey's Comet,
Cloudy skies,
Was working instead.

I was asleep,
Last time the Eagles played,
No time off I was home in bed.

I've never seen,
The Pyramids of Egypt,
No trail to that ancient dusty land.

Never saw,
The space shuttle landing,
Not a single rocket take off.

But I was there,
Yes I was watching,
The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 11-03-2016

Author's note:

The Billy Goat refers to a supposed curse on the Chicago Cubs imposed after they wouldn't allow the owner of the famous Billy Goat Tavern to bring his mascot on the field at Wrigley. This one is for you, Lenny "Pops" and Uncle John O'Hara - they waited their entire lives for the Cubs to win the series and missed it by two years. They passed within two weeks of each other in 2014.

The Goat Is Dead!

The Goat Is Dead!

I missed the night of Hailey's Comet,

Cloudy skies,

Was working instead.

I was asleep,

Last time the Eagles played,

No time off I was home in bed.

I've never seen,

The Pyramids of Egypt,

No trail to that ancient dusty land.

Never saw,

The space shuttle landing,

Not a single rocket take off.

But I was there,

Yes I was watching,

The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

The last time,

They couldn't announce it,

radio hadn't been invented yet.

Six-to-six,

In game seven,

Bottom of the ninth it went to ten.

Got rained out,

The tarp was over the field,

It dried up and on they played.

I was there,
Yes I was watching,
The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

2016,

The Cubs won the Series,

First time since 1908.

I missed the night of Hailey's Comet,
Cloudy skies,
Was working instead.

I was asleep,
Last time the Eagles played,
No time off I was home in bed.

I've never seen,
The Pyramids of Egypt,
No trail to that ancient dusty land.

Never saw,
The space shuttle landing,
Not a single rocket take off.

But I was there,
Yes I was watching,
The night we learned the Billy Goat was dead.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford

(C) 11-03-2016

Author's note:

The Billy Goat refers to a supposed curse on the Chicago Cubs imposed after they wouldn't allow the owner of the famous Billy Goat Tavern to bring his mascot on the field at Wrigley. This one is for you, Lenny "Pops" and Uncle John O'Hara - they waited their entire lives for the Cubs to win the series and missed it by two years. They passed within two weeks of each other in 2014.

The Family Muse:

Post by AquarianM on Sep 26, 2003 at 3:19pm

The Family Muse:

It's an interesting thing,
When you click "search".

Never knowing what you'll find,
Gifts throughout space and time,
Mysteries and revelations.

The greatest of them,
William the Giant,
He lived with her close day by day,
She leaned on his shoulder with tender golden whispers.

Kim the Giant's Heir,
Walking around his father's incredible ghost,
She brushes kisses on his ear in timely fashion,
And Princess Kit dances sweet moving the world,
Listening to Daddy's Love in timeless abandon and rhythm's power.

The Giant's brood are nuclear,
And the rest of us in the family quiet old TNT,
Lady Judith wanders with her hand in hand,
As they laugh a verse and lay down polished words,
And Dave Sinclair with our family in the midst gets some time,
Whiling away poor dear Norma catches whispers while doing time.

Paul Michael dances with her a jig or two,
Some day I'll see the sweet nothings she left him,
And Patrick P. remembers Lady Di under the gift of whispers,
Immortalizing the beautiful lost candle light in the hurricane,
And there she she danced a well deserved turn,
Yet Clay lies at her feet hearing bits in his dreams,
And David recorded WWII under the force of her gently driven breath.

Jorge is the Crossword Prince twisting out answers under her wing,
And Claire Ann has a subtle spirit of youth which colors her gift,
While Mr. Chris has a turn coming for a whisper soon we'll read,
James speaks to our souls and the twisted path we must walk straight,
As we never forget Simon be it fall upon the lake,
While Jana records the readings yet I bet she'll have her whisper day,
And Donna dash Skar translates January Rainbows and other rare golden delights,
And Barbara lends us pictures of the visions with the poetic way she illustrates.

Georgia Lynn brought us joy and sorrow,
Poor dear couldn't live even with the words,
But she took the time to speak with us before her leaving day,
And so the clan distant and scattered though we be,
She travels light at the speed of light,
A touch here and whisper there,
Busy busy busy but ever a tenacious delight,
The family muse lives on touching the quiet gentle hearts,
All these Staffords in literature and poetry.

What of me did you say,
I think she comes to me missing William,
Because she is often but I've yet to reach Fusion,
She is loving Earth and Sky and heart and cloud,
She led me to start watching over the family,
"Daniel A. please whisper prayers for them upon electric clouds."
My ear is always open to her,
Beautiful Lady Inspiration,
Dancing in papyrus piles and loads of feather quills,
Our dear sweet family Muse.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 09/26/2003

Author's Comments:
Thank you to Google.com, for what they had to say about "Poetry Stafford."

Last Edit: Sep 26, 2003 at 3:21pm by AquarianM

Words are the mind's bridge - it's connection to the universe.
Love is the heart's bridge - it's connection to all other souls.
Loving words can work miracles.

Infallible...

Post by AquarianM on Mar 9, 2005 at 12:20am

Infallible...

Some words spark wonder and amazement,
In placement around a human being,
Claiming to know the mind of God is one such statement.

Words on a page were not printed in holy water ink,
And the senses they were interpreted through are a pale translation,
No title of a man makes him greater than every other.

Love one another - that's as infallible as you'll ever be.

AquarianM

By: Daniel A. Stafford
© 03/09/2005