What I Do . . . The

Johnny Was Sobbing In Shuddering Gasps, Telling Me His Small Tale Of Woe, That The World Was Suddently Different, And That He Wanted Me To Make It Better, Right Now Please." --liadan's Interpretation Of Her Baby's Cries.

Wake The Sleeper Must, And Confront His Fears, Or Risk Being Lost In The Dark Places Of The Mind Forever.

Your Actions Are Your Own. Your Choices Are Your Own. Each Of Us Carries A Burden Of Guilt For Decisions Made Or Not Made. You Can Let That Rule Your Whole Life Or You Can Put It Behind You And Move On. Only A Madman Lets Jealousy Determine The Course Of His Existence. Only A Weak Man Blames Others For His Own Errors.

If She Were Here I Wouldn't Be Able To Keep My Hands Off Her. I Would Hold Her So Close She'd Beg Me To Let Her Breathe. I'd Kiss Her So Hard She'd Plead For Mercy. I'd Unfasten Her Clothing And Lie With Her Onthat Hard Bed, And What Was Between Us Would Be As Far Above The Ordinary Congress Between Man And Woman As The Stars Are Above Their Pale Reflections In The Lake Below.

There Was So Much Of Beauty Here: The Neat, Small Tracks Of A Foraging Creature, Stoat Or Marten; The Inticate Tracery Of A Skeleton Leaf, Still Clinging Vainly To Its Parent Tree As, Little By Little, Time Stripped It Of Its Substance, Leaving Only The Delicate Remembrance Of What It Had Been.