A writer in search of the right word combinations to capture beauty and truth. The trail of beauty he is following begins with King David watching a woman bathe across a rooftop and then fasting for a dying child, then to Walt Whitman making poetic long lines with Emersonian ideas while saluting prostitutes, then to Paul Verlaine shooting the young Arthur Rimbaud who flees poetry to run guns in Africa, somewhere beauty's face becomes more appealing in Emily Dickinson's bedroom than any other place until T. S. Eliot achieves perfection with Prufrock and then Allen Ginsberg Howls in conformist America while Jack Kerouac drinks in a lonely spiritual sadness, all before the advent of the beautiful gypsy Bob Dylan singing with the voice of righteous indignation.
The elusive trail of beauty and truth must be followed if never satisfactorily found.
We’ve been in the rain so long
That our eyes are sore and red;
When joy is missing,
We gaze down too long at our feet
...
I would give up drinking
To be drunk with your perfume
On a summer night
With the sea breeze singing
...
She was weeping when we met
Outside a party store
Where the lonely purchase their wine;
Her boyfriend had left her behind
...
I still find comfort
In the soft caress
Of the moonlight’s
Tender glow
...
Abandoned to sadistic streets,
A school room of sullen tears,
A little girl lost beneath
A blanket of rejection and fears
...