'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The cube had food and maybe ammo. And immortality.
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp; Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp. Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give; Gas smells awful; You might as well live.
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
It's easier to quote poets than to read them.
Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves.