An empty book
is not final
the endless possibilities
so appealing.
For one moment
this human condition
is not defining.
Once the ink from this definite pen touches
those blank pages
Regret seems to fill us
with every word we write.
A moment lost.
A moment found.
We find hope for a new start
as we turn the page.
If only you could see
what we want is what we have
and
what we have is what we want. . . .
The simple things in life would matter.
Defined by history
our future
is destined for failure,
if we continue this path.
Allowing this present moment
to fade away
second by second.
This alternate state we seek,
to hide away from the reality
we so greatly hate.
Living somewhere inside our head,
we never truly find happiness.
Will we ever find peace?
When everyone around us
is governed by the rules
dictated by society.
We cannot see. .
The things unknown
are things we fear
and the things we judge.
Accept what is
And
what must be will be!
