Chronicles Of Life

History’s pages are often scribbled in selfishness
of all the me first melodies and songs of greed,
but some times love writes a chapter
though it may not always be read,
still it is the poetic passage of our good
what aspires for care and compassion
among the countless accounts of battle.

For the heart has the choice with its pen
about what becomes the chronicles of life,
it is up to us if those lines shine with care
or just keep on showing the stains of blood.

And minds of sane and soulful thoughts
ever will dream of a day finally coming
where somehow what time records
reveals more a fairy tale than sorrow’s stories.