I am old, old, old. . .
My seven hills knew the ancient mortals.
I was long the pride of kings
and the dread of the doomed.
Queen was I of civilization:
of justice, of order, of decadence, of cruelty.

Dare you enter, dare you see?
Dare you know, stranger, my ancientry?
'Ware! Walk not carelessly.
Come and consider man’s history.

GOD has always loved, and always will love 'nothing'. Why? And what exactly do I mean by 'nothing'. So that you do not get me wrong, I shall explain myself at once:

The Face of Alyosha:
A study of faces in The Brothers Karamazov

Memories are our own personal movies that replay in our hearts when we feel lonely or sad. When someone is sad, they think of a happy time in their lives that will make them feel better. When someone is lonely, they think of times when they were with family and friends. The people who have never had a happy memory are always very depressed and upset because they have no memories to hold onto and remember when they're sad.

Harry Potter! Harry Mania! The books, the movies, the fans! He's the latest sensation! British author J. K. Rowling's new series about a young English wizard-in-training are wildly popular with readers of all ages, and with the first movie now playing in the theaters, even non-readers can join the club! The books are thrilling, and well written. Harry is a very likable boy, loyal to his friends and courageous in danger. The world has accepted Harry. But some Catholic/Christian authors, parents, and teens find cause for concern about Mr. Potter. Including myself.

The piano is one of the most popular musical instruments ever. There are probably three million pianos in the US alone, and over a million new and used pianos are sold every year. There are at least fifty thousand piano teachers, who teach hundreds of thousands of students. In spite if how popular the piano is have you ever stopped to think about who invented it, and how it works?

Perfectly polished apples hung from apple trees in an orchard. They swung just slightly with the breeze and reflected the soft morning sun. Although the day fell on a Sunday, no church bells announced the Sabbath. This day did not make up a typical Sunday, for from afar, a light crimson blaze burned. One could almost smell the faint scent of blistering cinders coming from the town of New York. There buildings lay waste, demolished within the fire. Heatedly pacing back and forth, General Howe, of the British army, viewed the infuriating scene.

White spires soar high above us,
Seeming to reach through the clouds:
Pride of man's genius,
Applauded by crowds.
They are hushed - a tense silence,
Fierce glimmering glows,
A roll as of thunder,
Earth trembles below.

Cool morning vapors are challenged by fire;
Steam bursts from hot iron.
Glowing orange, grappling gravity, roaring,
White spires rise higher, climbing, now soaring.
Cerulean is seared by rocketing flame;
A synthetic sunrise glares in our eyes.

In my blood I feel fire. Flames that burns red with desire. My heart beats so fast that I tire. My mind races and I take 100 paces. In my mind I see flashes of so many faces.
As I take my place on stage and read over the last page I notice the play is about to engage. I anticipate the time when I will recite my line and end this ryhme.
The curtain lifts the movement in the audience shifts
For now I am a king and the stage is my kingdom all shall see me and dream to be me as I live love and become the master of the stage