No words of mine can potently display
the anguish and the joy that touch our lives;
yet all our ghostly forebears went this way
where words may pierce our hearts like sharpened knives.
No sentient being willingly at first
Accepts the pain that true perception brings.
Yet we must not take hearts to be a curse;
we need not flee from knowledge,though it stings.
Each day demands our thoughtfulness and love
from which all better actions rightly come.
Each day the grace we have is just enough,
To make this world into a better home
For life’s but a true story we invent,
with passion and with purified intent
How my heart sings 