Poetry is a rich, full-bodied whistle, cracked ice crunching in pails, the night that numbs the leaf, the duel of two nightingales, the sweet pea that has run wild, Creation's tears in shoulder blades.
beauty poetry
I don't like people who have never fallen or stumbled. Their virtue is lifeless and it isn't of much value. Life hasn't revealed its beauty to them.
beauty people tso-life virtues
Am I a gangster or a murderer? Of what crime do I stand Condemned? I made the whole world weep At the beauty of my land.
beauty crime