How much latitude do we have in penning ourselves?
How much is predetermined by us or by God?
Legacy within my veins begs for release
A stark blankness waits words
To fill the unwritten pages
of chapters yet to come
with hope or tragedy
solitude or love
joy or pain
Is it a mere fiction to wish for either or?
To separate the wheat from the chaff seems unrealistic
Better to accept the good with the bad in full measure
To find value in worthlessness is a beautiful art
In happiness and sorrow I create
Integrating wholeness within fate
My destiny unwritten still awaits
Such are the nature of my thoughts with the rising sun and a not quite blank page.