Life's like a poorly penned poem,
punctuated by emotions.
Often abstract and mystical,
it's hard to find its true meaning.
Influencing both heart and soul,
love pens every soliloquy.
And so we perceive existence,
as extensions of our feelings.
Some lines are profoundly painful,
while others are written with joy.
Yet they share similarities,
in the same repetitive theme.
Hope establishes the rhythm that
allows dreams and feats of magic.
For the words shuck reality,
to speak supernatural thoughts.
Curiosity turns each page,
leaving us always wanting more.
And the ending's an illusion,
conjured to appease scripted tears.