Filling ink in the pages of time; Is that all we can do?
We start on a blank page, With black ink maybe
The color of life is in our hands still, And the entire diary for us to fill.
We write chapters, we want to rewrite certain paragraphs
Aiming to write more in the space limited, but what is written cannot be erased
The game begins “love all”, we but choose to read and love one memoir
The match is reduced to deuce, when we cannot amend her chronicle
The pen is not just mightier than sword, it is the instrument for the lines of our lives
It is what we choose to write that matters, and matters for those who read after us
Let life not remember us by one autograph at the end, but by nice words all through
Words written beautifully, Words read from others,
Words black and white, Words all color and infinite
Words sans violence and hatred, Words inked with message of “love all”
Shout backs...