Heart of Black and White

My words are on paper and my sentences made clear. Such as the testaments for which has traveled from my heart to my pen. Though my message seems clear, my intent is still obscured by the mists of days that has come and passed. Just who am I to say that I understand the hearts of my fellow men around me for I can only guess. Wanting to be remembered, I'd do almost anything to see this pulled through. Now I'm writing of lavish fiction and coffee cake stories for which I know is all a lie. What have I become...? I'm not a monster but, I'm not a saint as I'll never be. Who am I...? Through all the candy coatings of all the stories I've written and told, my heart remains obscured, lost in a blinding veil of mist. My mind seeks cover waiting for when my heart rips in two for the truth it seeks can no longer be handled from reading the lies written down for which I'm dead guilty of. What do I do now? I can't abandon my paper, my stories, and my life's work. All I have left is to embrace this as a part of me, the heart of black and white and the realms of ink and paper. Whatever the day, whatever life throws at me, I will remember the journey between the heart and the pen.