Preface:

     The skies are gray, the rain has  hardly stopped all year--the heavens weeping for remembrance of a time long ago when poets still wrote and lovers still laughed in a world without regret and pain. With the heavens I, too, have longed for a world where love lives on despite disaster and sickness and poverty. I send these epistles to every heart-sore man, woman, and child in hopes that something might be stirred in the depths of their soul to make them remember how to truly live. How to love, or even to be loved. And if my letters touch even one soul I shall not have toiled in vain, for the knowledge--even the hope--of a changing world will be my reward.

      Therefore I beg you, look inside yourself for that bit of your heart that has not been captured by this our society of greed and lust. Try to find truth within yourself. Try, once more, to be human.