Blank Pages

Our book of life falls open at a page

whereupon we write our stories daily,

with tracery that weaves our souls’ intent

into the fabric of the words we choose;

ours the choice to seek the light or dark

inks to embellish the script of our play.

We have to take the leading role. Each act

supplies a cast of characters for us,

without whom our production would be dull,

a monologue in shades of monotone

uniformity.  So raise the curtain,

let the orchestra play an overture

as we stand in the wings of a stage set

with backdrops poised to paint the scene for life.

Inspiration came today from Imaginary Garden's guided meditation, and I've linked it to Poetry Pantry , too.