"Is there life after one bad turn?"

Those who look for excuses fail.

"Are there points of true no return?"

Those who look for solutions prevail.

After one bad rhyme comes another;

Yet you pick up your pencil and write.

You learn from the choices that drag,

That destroy, and that pull you apart.

Change direction, without looking back,

Striving only to hold what you’ve got.

Left?

You erase your mistakes with white deeds

Then you rinse and repeat, repeat..

When the shape of that lego fits poorly,

You might need to place a few more

oddly shaped ones on top.

Right?

But until you run out of moves,

You continue to play with

your whole heart.

The game is not entirely over;

Not until you put down your pen

and give up.

Or until..

(Does it have to be said out loud?..

There’s no life only after we die..)