In and around the time I began to crawl,

it had occured to me that the book of life is so small.

In that, as I walk with a pace of one...two...one...two,

the missing number; three...

would be left up to me.

For what you don't see is that life is already written,

it's waiting for you to discover what is hidden.

Yes, as a baby I did know,

My mind was filled with riddles I would forget...

when I chose to grow.

but now I remember,

here and forever...

That our lives are doors waiting to be opened,

and poetry is that missing token.

Destiny, and poetry have rhymes that allude,

They're both yours though...

and waiting to be explored and used.