INSIDE THE LINES

INSIDE THE LINES

Life is not always neat and tidy,
Life does not stay inside the lines.
Life is like some rebel child,
Clutching crayons like land mines.

Love is not always black and white,
There are muted tones and shades of gray.
And lovers spend many anguished nights,
Hiding from the scandals of the sunny day.

Friendship is not all wine and song,
A jaunty dance or a jubilee.
For friends are made of flesh and bone,
The scarred remains are what you see.

And life can cheat and play its cards,
Oh, so tight, and close to the vest.
It lures you in with tasty bait,
Then puts your mettle to the test.

Life is not all zest and ease,
Life is famine and disease.
Life is love that does betray,
And fickle friends that go astray.

Life is short and life is brief,
Fragile as the autumn leaf.
Life is graveyards and decay,
The great big fish that got away.

Count your blessings with your fears,
Be thankful for your sunlit years.
And clutch your crayons ‘til you die,
Do not be afraid to cry.

Life is hard, but worth the fight,
So grit your teeth and hold on tight.
Clutch your crayons as you go,
Relax, sit back, enjoy the show.

And beat life at its own cruel game,
Until the Reaper calls your name.
There is no reason or no rhyme,
Life never stays inside the lines.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED