Every life is a story,
each with its fair share of spin-offs,
each a sequel of countless sequels,
contributing towards the canon of life.
Every person is a protagonist of one story,
they may become major characters in other stories,
or minor characters, extras supporting the main cast,
we all expand the canon of life.
Every thought is a letter,
every action a word,
they form paragraphs which may be re-written from every angle,
so that we produce countless interpretations of the canon of life.
As we walk along pavements of gold, stone or dirt,
an eternal scroll unfolds beneath us,
our feet imprint words on the ground,
and we write our story, holding hands with our fellow writers.
We look up, our eyes following the pavement below,
but the pavement seems to never end,
we see splits in the path,
but we know not where they lead.
Thus the canon of life leads us on,
its vastness blinding our shortsighted eyes.
And we wonder who is responsible for leading us onto this path,
yet we were here all along.
And we wonder who is responsible for starting our story,
but why does every story need a writer?
