Poem -

Novels to Volumes

God works in mysterious ways, is what I used to hear my elders say.
Everything? Well, it happens for a reason even the messed up hard days.
Still, I haven't grasped what' s the purpose of my individual life yet.
I'm constantly searching for it, everywhere. Like the oxygen, your body MUST get.
The beings, the outsiders just observing the life I've lived?
Say, you need to write a book, about the endurance and patience life trained, you to give.
See, I wish I could. The stories should be told.
Yet, my story is richer, more unique, more enticing than the history of solid gold.

I confess this however., I have finally stopped questioning the intentions of my Heavenly One.
For if I do blessing truly will not come.
He has your entire story in a locked up book, on one of the highest of HIS shelves.
We can not edit it, shorten it, lengthen it, write it solely by ourselves.
Life, death, life, then death again, one story sequel after the other.
Some are Volumes on Volumes. While others are like a bedtime story whispered through your mother.
The meaning of it all is not important, for seldomly it's EVER found.
Even when you've thought you finally got it. Stop, pause, and take a clearer look around.
What I can say is, strive for YOUR happiness in YOUR paragraph, YOUR story, or novel, Volumes on Volumes.
Living life like a full rosebush. One rose dies another blooms.
Β 

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