“Feelings you could never explain. That’s what poetry is.”

Nostalgia seems to haunt me these days I wonder if it’s old age or just a phase.

You feel like the moonlight, mysteriously dark its blinding.

Poetry, music, and silence.

I’ve chased after sunsets too many times to know how precious time is.

You complete me.

Do not tell me how to feel just because you can’t understand.

Sometimes I get my youth confused with age.

Give me love and I’ll show you unconditional.

I miss you even in my dreams.

Love, if true, stays when all else is gone.

Regret is a time travel in a world where time only moves forward.

Can I write you into existence?

He is a friend. A different kind of lover.

The ‘almost’ kinda love never makes it.

Silence is the best storyteller.

I am a wildflower disguised as a flame. It’ll be fun to watch you underestimate me.

Science, for me, gives a partial explanation for life. In so far as it goes, it is based on fact, experience and experiment.

Not all things needs an explanation. Sometimes, all it needs is emotion.

My seeking has been to explain and illuminate the Negro condition in America and obliquely that of all human kind.

This power that I’m supposed to have over women was never noticed when I was a stage actor on Broadway. I don’t know when I got it. And by God, I can’t explain it.

Transformation is something I cannot explain – too much analysis might destroy it.

What can be explained is not poetry.

I just think the American people had expected that the president of the United States would be able to describe what he’s going to do in the next four years. But he can’t. He can’t even explain what he’s done in the last four years.

We must believe in luck. For how else can we explain the success of those we don’t like?