With life nothing but a tired old story, I was waiting, always awaiting;
Checking off the pages that life has to me been sending;
Unimportant, I mark each page, with life so boring.
But, always with a wish that magical page will be opening,
And, to a wondrous scene, I would be transporting.
Now jaded by this whole affair,
I flick my finger at a passing page.
Amazingly the page undergoes a revision.
It appears that by the pointing of my finger,
Some of what life sent my way, can no longer linger.
So, I flick again, and the story revises as if I pulled a trigger.
Then I flick once more and more of the story does reconfigure.
Just how this came about I cannot figure.
But, now it does seem that all life really wanted from me,
Was to stand up, and rewrite my destiny.