THE DESTINY WRITERS
They think they know me.
They pride themselves on reciting my life from cover to cover -
Owning my past, manipulating my present and designing my future.
They are, the Writers of my Destiny.
Every smile, every tear has a reason - has a meaning.
Every breath I take is for a destiny that they have determined.
But I smile inwardly at their arrogance,
And I relish in their presumptuous ignorance.
I crave only to weave my web of deceit the more,
For they do not deserve to know, nor will they accept,
Who I really am and Who I live for.
For them, knowledge is a weapon -
To dissect my life and my existence until there's nothing left of it.
For them, my life is theirs -
They own me - my thoughts, my behaviours, my opinions - my heart.
God forbid if I ever differ from their pre-ordained mindsets of who I am,
Or rather - who I am supposed to be,
For condemnation will ooze from their lips like the molten lava of a thousand volatile volcanoes.
So I have learnt well how to play the marionette on a string.
How to satisfy their controlling hearts and fastidious minds.
But the truth is that what they see,
Or rather, what I allow them to see,
Is only a smoke screen -
A hilarious series of superficial smiles and exaggerated courtesies,
Concealing the true nature of a heart that purposes to choose her own destiny -
Or rather, who that author will be.
They do not see the carefree girl who twirls beneath the starry canopy,
Or sings vociferously to the awakening day.
Do they see that dawn rises to greet me,
And with the nod of her head I escape?
Running through the grassy plains, his long arms brushing ever so gently against my bare calves.
Allowing the wind to dance wantonly through every strand of my hair -
If they could only see me now.
They do not see me as I reach for you,
My earnest eyes telling you how much I need you.
They do not see how you return my need,
Or the gentle smiles you endow upon me.
They do not hear your whispers of love,
Or feel the way my heart responds.
They do not know the depth of our love
Or that You are the True Writer of My Destiny.
For love and not control,
Motivated every stroke of your pen across the pages of my pre-ordained life.
Your desire for me and my eternal sacrifice of love,
Is the heartbeat of your world -
How odd in this selfish life,
But infinitely assuring of an existent goodness beyond humanity's weaknesses.
How difficult it was at first to believe and understand,
That wealth, riches and power are nothing to you - only my love.
That you knew me before the dawn of time,
Before the day and the night met and kissed beneath evening's shade,
Before the seas were assigned their cosmic space,
Before the Heavens appeared in thunderous display,
And life was endowed as you exhaled.
Continues still to wow my mind,
For I still cannot perceive that related to such power,
Is purity - his sister,
And love, his eternal brother.
So let the self-ordained, human gods,
Continue to stand on the fringes of my life,
Pens poised, anxiously waiting to author the next chapter of my life.
Let them believe that their power is real,
And that I actually care about the meaningless charade they call life.
Let them believe that I want what they have -
That they possess the blue print of my happiness.
For only a fool tries to enlighten a fool and I am no fool.
I live by the hand of One.
I act by the instruction of One.
I have become one with the writer of my destiny.
His heart beats within me eternally,
And within my soul constantly plays,
How Amazing is My Author's Grace.
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