I can't remember the first line.
It was written down for me,
oh, so many long years ago.
I've read so many lines,
heard so many lines,
sung so many lines since then,
that the first one is lost to time now,
and I can't remember it any more.

Life is something like a book,
all the chapters to read,
and all the pages to turn,
holding within the covers
whole worlds full of emotions:
Excitement and Fears,
Hopes and Dreams,
Tears, Smiles and Songs....
the stuff of Life.
Everyone together is the author;
everyone writes the book,
each in their own time,
with their separate emotions
in the lines,
making the pages weep or howl
according to how things are.
Some pages are bright,
as a morning in springtime
after a long winter.
Others are dark,
as in a fearful storm.

No one writes like another,
no one has the same experiences
as another,
and there may be whole pages
so confusing, so confounding,
that the reader is lost
in trying to follow the words.

I am at the point where I am lost,
surrounded by words, letters, thoughts
that are not mine,
trying to add my mind to the page
before someone closes the book.
But I can't remember the first line any longer.

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