Fictionary

What would happen,
if all our dreams came true?
What would happen,
if we got everything we really wanted?
Would life become perfect?
Is it possible?
Why doesn't God
give us everything we desire?
Would we take him for granted?
Would we eventually find out
we never actually wanted it?
Would we leave God,
running away from His relentless love?
Always striving for something
we can't attain from a human?
Fiction clouds my mind,
making me believe in
dreams that aren't fulfilled.
It begs me to follow the rainbow,
knowing I will always find an empty pot,
or worse--the despair of nothing.
When the haze lifts,
I firmly plant my feet.
I choose to believe.
To believe in a story
that God himself writes.
He's no soap-opera author.
He doesn't twist the plot,
manipulating my life with indifference.
When I'm willing to hand him the pen,
He writes--
corrects my pitiful scribbles,
and completes the story of my heart.