Life is a possession in each man's hand;
Each to make of it, that which he can.
To some, transparent.
To most, a dream.
But hardly ever that which it seems.
Some through agony, tears and pain
Cross the threshold to life's higher plane.
Most despair, and never attain.
A pitiful paradox, wouldn't you agree?
For That which was given so free and clear,
Most refuse, and never draw Near.
Dennis M. Carey
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