Photo & Poem Gallery

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today... Aha-ah...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too

Mad Hatter: "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"
"Have you guessed the riddle yet?" the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
"No.  I give it up," Alice replied: "What's the answer?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," said the Hatter.

In the years to come they will say,
“They fell like the leaves
In the autumn of nineteen thirty-nine.”
November has come to the forest,
To the meadows where we picked the cyclamen.
The year fades with the white frost
On the brown sedge in the hazy meadows,

We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing;
He chastens and hastens His will to make known.
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing.
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.

Beside us to guide us, our God with us joining,

Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
  What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
  Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
  And I knew all her ways.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

Human beings suffer.
They torture one another.
They get hurt and get hard.
No poem or play or song
Can fully right a wrong
Inflicted and endured.

History says, Don't hope
On the side of the grave,
But then, once in a lifetime
The longed for tidal wave

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,

Everything an Indian does is in a circle and that is because the power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round...The sky is round and I have heard the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars.

Hold high the woof, dear friends, that we may see 
The cunning mixture of its colours rare. 
Nothing in nature purposely is fair,— 
Her beauties in their freedom disagree; 
But here all vivid dyes that garish be,