Kym Robinson.
If I was to tell you the story of your life, would you sit and listen?
Would you believe the words that I spoke or would you deny them ?
If I was to narrate your tale from beginning to end, would it change a thing?
Would you alter the course of your very own fate?
If those dreams you held dear never became real ?
If I were to read from a page of your book or show you your life's stage,
Would you be surprised if the exceptional being that you thought you were
averaged out into a mundane other ?
If where you sought meaning, you fought a simple reasoning,
Wasted nights and reckless days,
Where you made Demons into Angels,
And let those real Angels that loved You take a sad flight.
If I held your hand and I looked at you with a sincere face,
whispering of the journey that you began with a promise,
if my whispers faded into obscure stumbling and meaningless ramblings.
Know the simple truth.
You were born and then you died.
What little you did in between mattered not in the end.
Every regret you soon would forget,
Never to learn.
You made excuses, you fell short and you watched others come and go.
Your story unsatisfied is without a remarkable plot.
The legacy you lead. The living you had.
Here you sit awaiting a truth that is not your own, hoping for a fate without a destined smile.
So let me tell your this story for you and you alone.
Every moment you wasted, every time you cried 'pity me' and every opportunity you let go ... so did you feel the brush of Fates sails as they slowly passed you by.
So maybe, just maybe if in the beginning you had heard my words of your tale,
would you have walked any different ? Would you have been any stronger ?
Would have you loved just that bit longer ?
Or were you doomed from the very start ?
Condemned to your own hand, the one you dealt to yourself with self assured bliss...
an intoxicated lie that you should never die.
That times tick was forever a distant never.
And now here when it is soon to end,
will you re write the pages of your very own book.
Now that I have given you a look.
Will you simply close it over and let the ink run with your own tears,
so selfishly wasted on such self delusion without a dignified conclusion?
Hear your story, know your story, bittersweet is the legacies we keep.
But please in the end do not weep,
For your hands drew the final curtain across the stage that was your life.
August, 2012.
