This Life

This life could be different, I know that it could;
The chains here that bind me seem heavy and strong,
But keys open locks, and saws cut forged steel,
So I'll keep my eyes open and see freedom erelong.

What is one's own life but a heart anyway?
And existence as fragile as thin papier-mache...

This heart could be happy, I know that it could;
The pain that keeps coming does weigh it down so,
But some other hearts lift it and help it to grow,
Sweet souls I have found - and the love they bestow.

What is one's own heart but a soul anyway?
And existence as fragile as thin papier-mache...

This soul could be soaring, I know that it could;
It's not tied to this earth like the trees of the wood,
It flew once before all the way to high heaven,
If it was it can be, in all likelihood.

What is one's own soul but God's hand anyway?
And existence as fragile as thin papier-mache...

God's hand shouldn't cry, I know that it shouldn't;
But tears here deluge me, and the rain never ends,
For growth water is needed, but light needed more,
Sunlight, and moonlight - for ascension impends.

What are souls but wishes living in dreams?
This life the illusion, this life the elaborate lie -
We can all be bright angels, sharing our love,
We can all reach the heavens, learning to fly.

Morning approaches, the moon's glow fades fast,
As the sand in our hourglasses trickles away.
Reach deep in your heart, grab fast to your dream -
Find your true path before the harsh light of day.

It's here for the taking, and for flying away...

I like this one...thank you for sharing...