Poor Strangers, They Have So Much To

I Have Always Loved To Use Fear, To Take It And Comprehend It And Make It Work And Consolidate A Situation Where I Was Afraid And Take It Whole And Work From There.

I Would Have To Find Something Else To Bury Here And I Wished It Could Be Charles.

It Was One Of Those Winter Days That Suddenly Dream Of Spring, When The Sky Is Blue And Soft And Clear, And The Wind Has Dropped Its Voice And Whispers Instead Of Screaming, And The Sun Is Out And The Trees Look Surprised, And Over Everything There Is The Faintest, Palest Tint Of Green.

Journeys End In Lovers Meeting; I Have Spent An All But Sleepless Night, I Have Told Lies And Made A Fool Of Myself, And The Very Air Tastes Like Wine. I Have Been Frightened Half Out Of My Foolish Wits, But I Have Somehow Earned This Joy; I Have Been Waiting For It For So Long.

Am I Walking Toward Something I Should Be Running Away From?