It is difficult for me to study and match in words the progress made in literature, especially in poetics. Again and again in mood and tone I seek regression rather than advance upon a world that seems too harsh to live in pretty words.
Instead, a cave of poetry is formed by introspection; with walls that grow and harden in determination to act as shield around the mind too delicate to paint with the graffiti of the present.
Will faith and truth and beauty then, seek shelter underground?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology