The purity of a heart can be corroded with rage,
When one gazes upon the wrong turn of a page.
The words written may be painful to see,
Perhaps that page was even written by me.
We all expect a dream to drift by soon,
It’s what we dwell on under the light of the moon.
The next page is yours, as it’s blank and new,
So remember this blessing, the free life that was gifted to you.