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This is a space where men can share their perspectives on their inner journey. The form can be prose, poetry, photographic or handcrafted images. The purpose is to stimulate, even minutely, the transformative process. All art strives to move us to a different place, that place of the soul, that initiatory space, where the call is heard and identity found. Please reverence the space by respectfully entering and sharing.

July, 2001

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I knew him not and now he's gone.
He struck me once and then I fled.
The words hurt most were words not said.

We should have talked, we should have talked.
His own father caused him much to dread.
I knew him not and now he's gone.

I tried, I tried, but how he balked.
My heart denied but oh it bled.
The words hurt most were words not said.

He tried, he tried, but how I balked.
To me it was the lies he fed.
I knew him not and now he's gone.

I should have listened to what was wrong,
Instead my anger was what I wed.
The words hurt most were words not said.

And now I fear I don't belong,
No words can state how sad my bed.
I knew him not and now he's gone.
The words hurt most were words not said.

Robert Pawlicki