The Parts We Play


There is no set of instructions,
For matters of the heart,
And when it comes to heart and soul,
Where does one end and the other start,
Our life is held up to scrutiny,
But how is that life portrayed,
What has life constructed,
In a love that forever made.
Day by day we play our parts,
As our tomorrows we tenuously hold,
And every event that comes our way,
Conforms to some lost mold,
Some things are called our destiny,
Products of searching souls,
As the confusion comes from deciding,
Which plays the leading role.
At times it’s just to easy,
To turn and walk away,
And at times the distance we walk,
Is just another scene in the play,
One thing stands out as real,
It’s that love moves in for good,
But what if we’re stuck with the idea,
That it is only if we would.
In the realm of possibility,
Lives the heart and all it feels,
And the love that abides within it,
Counts a kiss as how it;s sealed,
A dream is felt from yesterday,
And each morning it’s still alive.
As we anticipate tomorrow,
But dread when it will arrive.
Each night a dream’s reality,
And it carries through to the day,
While each and every morning,
Starts out the very same way,
Love beats inside the chest,
And it’s beating even now,
The soul’s smart enough to know,
Love is more than a dream somehow.
Sleep is supposed to rest you,
But each morning it’s always the same,
Love holds out it’s open arms,
And whispers just her name,
The day begins where the night ended,
A dream all that’s real,
Each night and every day,
It’s only her I feel.

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