is art more powerful than love, asked the poet.
stowed away in a tower, a stone house, a warren of writers and other madmen, will I become composed, edified, and finally glorious? But if that isn't the answer, can I conform, submit and not suffer. Wouldn't it be easier simply to love and be loved. An artist sorrows; but is a lover not also giving up power and ego for the greater good?
I just wish I were something, committed to a higher calling. half sick, I'm not here.
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