"Here sighs, with lamentations and loud moans,

Resounded through the air pierced by no star, That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues, Horrible languages, outcries of woe, Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse, With hands together smote that swell'd the sounds, Made up a tumult, that forever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.

I then, with horror yet encompast, cried: "O master! what is this I hear? what race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?"

He thus to me: "This miserable fate Suffer the wretched souls of those, who lived Without or praise or blame, with that ill band Of angels mix'd, who nor rebellious proved, Nor yet were true to God, but for themselves Were only. From his bounds Heaven drove them forth Not to impair his lustre; nor the depth Of Hell receives them, lest the accursed tribe Should glory thence with exultation vain."

-Dante's Inferno, Canto III

this is my message to whom it may concern.

God bless him who hears it and understands,

michael holden.