Though we don’t write the endings to our stories,
We’re bound to tell the passages between,
Letters written, words too oft confounding,
On life’s parchment, scripted scene by scene.
Underlying themes and sub-plots merging,
Combined, refined, relate the years we’ve seen,
Central characters all pulled together,
Writing book of life and where we’ve been.
Sometimes story plot becomes confusing,
Characters won’t say and do all that they mean,
Deletions happen often though they hurt you,
No one likes to lose the plan they’ve weaned.
Conflict often rises though unplanned for,
Resolutions too, when hope it seemed
Had fled the prose and left an empty page there,
Tale renews and onward goes as schemed.
Standing back and viewing sometimes helps here,
Perspective on a scale too rarely seen,
Judgements made, a brand new tack is taken,
Weaving all perceptions that we’ve gleaned.
No, we don’t write the endings to our stories
But try to polish them to worthy sheen,
Chapters running, coming all together,
Life lines written, speaking volumes in between.