Minus the High Praise

Here, ready for the epiphany

Instead presented with the challenge of a eulogy,

Minus the high praise.

Oh for paper hearts.

That our lives would be set in ink;

Lived through paragraphs and chapters

Painted in sentences.

Instead, we are flesh,

Beating against the paper,

Rebelling against the formation of the stories.

There are pages to be filled,

Unfinished details.

A gift and a curse,

Nothing is set.

The author of this novel has given us a choice;

The pen submitting to our wishes,

Recording the days according to our actions.

Form the words.

Create the endings.

And now, presented with the challenge of a eulogy,

Minus the high praise.